


Of All That Surrounds Us

by zanyemajik



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kid Fic, M/M, Nerd!Harry, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:26:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1916199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zanyemajik/pseuds/zanyemajik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Then just--fuck, Harry, tell him you’ve been in love with him since the moment he spilled orange juice all over your N64 and just work from there.”</p><p>Harry snorts a laugh despite himself. “Yeah.”</p><p>“I’m serious, mate,” Niall insists. “Every time something happens, you act like you and Louis--like you two haven’t basically been an item for ten fucking years. It’s <em>always</em> been like this Harry, you’ve just.” Niall glances at the ceiling and shakes his head, trying his best to soften his tone. “You’re too much of a fucking idiot to notice.”</p><p>Or, the high school AU where all five boys grow up in New York City, Harry’s fingers won’t stop shaking, Louis has an affinity for cupcakes and alcohol, Zayn thinks he knows what he’s doing, Liam <em>actually</em> knows what he’s doing, the contestants won’t stop humping Drew Carey, and everything is really all about Niall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gloria_andrews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_andrews/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man I'm so shit at thanking people, but to Lina (howlouvley on tumblr), the most wonderful beautiful amazing beta in the world, thank you!!! to A (niallaeger on tumblr) for being my own personal cheerleader during the time crunch of the final weeks.
> 
> (Title is based off a line in Every Single Night by Fiona Apple because I'm terrible at titles and me and fic Harry love that song)

It’s not exactly a panic attack.

Harry’s had about a million _exactly_ panic attacks just waiting for Niall to decide it wasn’t too early to answer his calls, and this, right now, is different. He feels--god, he almost feels like a kid again, like he’s gone back into that state he was perpetually stuck in all throughout elementary school--constantly nervous and jumpy and on edge. Except it’s worse now, infinitely worse, because his vocabulary is bigger so he knows more words with which to drive himself crazy, and he’s never understood why it is he speaks so slowly when his head is so used to nonstop reeling. He’s all shaky and useless and self-destructive and _shaky_ , he’s so, _so_ shaky, his ability to stay upright at the moment is nothing short of a fucking miracle. It’s not a panic attack, it’s more like--

“You really need to sit down, dude.”

“I’m losing it, Niall. Like--” Harry, pausing mid-pace, attempts to finish his sentence with a gesture. Niall isn’t looking. Harry resumes pacing. “I think I’ve finally gone crazy.”

“If you’re crazy, you’ve been crazy for a lot long--”

“Oh _fuck_ off,” Harry spits without really thinking.

Niall frowns up at him. “--ger than a couple hours,” he finishes slowly. He takes a breath, frown still firmly set. “Is this about, uh. This thing?”

“What thing?” He turns around and Niall’s holding that comic book in his hand, and Harry firmly shakes his head. “No.” He bites at his knuckle. “Kind of. No.”

Niall huffs out a laugh. “Which is it, dude?”

“No, it’s. Yes. It’s--complicated.”

“Sounds a lot like your comic book, to be honest.”

“Fuck off,” Harry repeats, though not quite as biting as before.

“Bit harsh for someone who’s sitting here putting up with your shit at eleven in the morning,” Niall says nonchalantly, flipping the book open to a random page. “But yeah, speaking of complicated, what’s with all the flying sharks?”

Harry’s caught off-guard. “I’m--the what?”

“The flying sharks,” Niall says again, pointing down to the book. “Like, don’t get me wrong, I can put up with the whole mutant-shark-laser-vision thing. But wings? Sharks with actual _wings_?”

“Uh, I’m not--wait, _what_?” Harry stammers, before giving in and abruptly quitting his pacing to take a look over Niall’s shoulder, and. Oh. Those are definitely flying sharks. “I...don’t remember putting in flying sharks.”

Niall cocks his head at the page. “You know what, no. I get the wings, put wings on whatever you want. But how are they breathing?”

Harry shakes his head, refocusing his attention. “Niall, please, I really--”

“Y’know, it’s not even, like, that hard to imagine a universe in which both superheroes _and_ flying sharks exist,” Niall continues, waving Harry off and ignoring his subsequent frustrated little noise. “That’s not the issue.”

“Niall,” Harry tries, his best attempt at firm, but his voice is unsteady and he’s back to pacing again.

“The _issue_ , is that this universe’s laws of physics are totally inconsistent.”

“ _Niall_.”

“In one scene, right, this ‘Radioactive Man’ is going from seventy-ninth street to twenty-third street in one giant leap. But a couple pages later he’s taking a cab to Newark? I thought he was poor, as well.”

And fuck, if Harry wasn’t losing it before, he’s definitely losing it now. “Niall, I swear to god--”

“Does jumping long distances tire him out, or something? Does he even know how expensive cabs are in New York City? How the fuck are _sharks_ breathing in _air_?”

“ _Niall_!” Harry all but yells, because he’s on the verge of panicking, he really is, like he’s ninety-five percent sure if Niall doesn’t indulge him right now he’ll die. Niall can probably see it too, can see Harry for the impending implosion he is, but he’s just looking at him like nothing’s wrong, like Harry isn’t falling apart. Like Harry’s entire world isn’t falling the _fuck apart_. “Can we _please_ stop analyzing something I made when I was fucking _eight years old_?”

Niall blinks at him a couple times, before pointing right back down to the book. “You know Radioactive Man is originally from The Simpsons, right?”

Harry groans and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“Like, that’s just straight up plagiarism.”

“I was _eight_.”

“Surely you’d seen The Simpsons when you were eight, though.”

Harry lets out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh, _now_ you’re responding to me?”

“When you’re talking about things that actually matter, yeah,” Niall says, shrugging as if he’s making any fucking sense.

“The practicality of flying sharks, _that’s_ what matters to you right now,” Harry bites.

“Well. Artistic integrity, more like, but the sharks are an offshoot of that, so.”

“Niall--” And Harry meant to yell it, really meant for it to sound more urgent than it did, but his voice has gone small. “Niall, please. I’m freaking out.”

“It’s Louis, right?”

Harry has to close his eyes for a moment. “Yeah, it’s--yeah.”

“You freak out about Louis, like, ninety percent of the time.”

“And what, that means it doesn’t matter?” Harry says, and it feels really fucking weird defending his feelings to one of his best friends.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Niall sighs, putting down the book and finally meeting Harry’s gaze. “I just feel like whatever problem you’re having with Louis--I just feel like I’m going to keep saying the same thing.”

“It’s different this time,” Harry mumbles.

“It’s different every time, though, isn’t it,” Niall counters, and Harry shoots him a hurt glare. “Sorry, no, it’s--” He groans, then takes a slow breath. “Just--tell Louis. Talk to him.”

“I can’t do that this time.”

“Then just--fuck, Harry, tell him you’ve been in love with him since the moment he spilled orange juice all over your N64 and just work from there.”

Harry snorts a laugh despite himself. “Yeah.”

“I’m serious, mate,” Niall insists. “Every time something happens, you act like you and Louis--like you two haven’t basically been an item for ten fucking years. It’s _always_ been like this Harry, you’ve just.” Niall glances at the ceiling and shakes his head, trying his best to soften his tone. “You’re too much of a fucking idiot to notice.”

*       *       *

_It’s his dad’s. Or was his dad’s, before he bought a better one at a stoop sale down the block and gave his old one to Niall, who is absolutely out of his mind with happiness._

__

_Harry and Louis are in their usual spots out on Harry’s fire escape landing, routinely munching away on their respective granola bars when a familiar ball of pure, pajama-clad energy catapults itself out of the house across the street, yelling nonsense and waving something around in its hands._

_It skids to a stop right below them and Harry can finally make out Niall’s face (but who else has the ability to turn into a literal human blur?) and he’s positively manic. “GUUUUUYS!” he yells up, hopping from one bare foot to the other, like he physically can’t keep still._

_“Hey Niall,” Louis says calmly, smirking through his mouthful of food._

_“GUYS YOU GOTTA GET DOWN HERE COME ON COME ON COME ON I HAVE TO SHOW YOU SOMETHING,” he continues yelling, rushed and breathing heavy and somehow still beaming through it all._

_“What is it?” Harry asks, already beginning to stand up. Louis’ still seated on the steps._

_“JUST GET DOWN HERE!” he says with a frantic shake of his head, flapping his arms once more before bringing the object up to his face and squinting through it. Louis identifies the object half a second before Harry, who’s leaning over the edge of the railing when Louis suddenly screams, “OH MY GOD IS THAT A VIDEO CAMERA?”_

_“_ YES _IT’S A BLOODY VIDEO CAMERA, COME OOOONNNN!”_

_Somehow Louis beats him down there, even though he has to scramble back up to his own floor to get dressed, but then again Harry has always moved a bit slower than everyone else. When he finally bursts through the front door, Louis is busy darting around Niall, trying to claim the camera’s focus._

_“Lou--get--Louis, get_ off _!” Niall says through a fit of giggles, trying to keep the camera pointed at the sky as Louis grabs a hold of his arm and pulls down with all his might. Still holding on, Louis goes up on his tiptoes, sticking his tongue out and crossing his eyes as he desperately tries to get a look into the lens. He’s giggling madly as he does it, and when Niall finally wrenches the thing away and falls flat on his ass, Louis erupts into a kind of laughter that expands and fills the quiet morning to the brim, the kind of laughter that Harry can feel swell in the pit of his chest._

_Harry’s standing at the top of his stoop with a dopey, lopsided grin on his face as he watches the scene unfold. Louis’ rolling around on the ground like a maniac, paying absolutely no mind to the passersby he’s inconveniencing. Niall is in a similar state of hysterics, but he’s managed to sit up and position himself a bit to the side. He looks up then, and Harry didn’t think his smile could get any wider._

_“Hi, Niall.”_

_Instead of responding, Niall looks down to search the buttons on the camera’s little control panel, pointer finger hovering until he finds what he’s looking for. He flips the screen out, presses something, and brings it up to his face to point at Harry._

_And, uh. Right. Harry’s never been filmed before. Like, his mom’s taken pictures of him and stuff, but this feels very different. He’s excited but more overwhelmed, like it’s essential that he play up to the performance Louis just gave, the one that had both of the boys writhing around on the floor with laughter._

_Harry manages to wave at the camera before he kind of completely freezes up, too hyperaware of his movements to do anything else. Niall takes that as the cue to jump up and take initiative. “S’Harry,” he says loudly as he approaches, probably louder than he needs, considering the camera is right next to his face. He drags the camera briefly over the front of Harry’s building. “This is the house that Harry lives in.”_

_Oh. Harry can do_ that _. “I’m up--I live on the fourth floor,” he prompts, pointing. “The second one from the top.”_

_“Hey, I live there too!” Louis yells from his place on the concrete. He stumbles over next to Harry, edging in front of him and smiling big into the camera. “I live in the very top floor, right above Harry. But my fire escape’s not as big.”_

_It’s true. The landing of Harry’s fire escape spans the length of three whole windows, while Louis’ only spans two. Suddenly, Louis’ eyes light up, like he’s remembered something. “Oh! MY NAME’S LOUIS!” he screams into the camera. After both boys and the couple passing them flinch in surprise, Niall just laughs and keeps the camera trained on him. Louis beams at it. “Uh, uh, uh, I moved in about two months ago and I’m ten years old and, and my birthday’s on Christmas Eve and I love soccer and I’ve got a mom and a sister. A really dumb sister, my sister’s really dumb.”_

_“I’ve got a mom and a dumb sister too!”_

_“Harry’s got a really pretty sister,” Niall blurts out, turning the camera to Louis._

_Louis gasps dramatically and covers his mouth with his hands. He turns to Harry, who’s promptly turning pink._

_“Ew, I do not!”_

_“What’s her name?” Louis asks Niall in a hushed voice. Harry goes to kick at Niall’s shins._

_Niall dodges him easily. “Gemma.”_

_“Shut up!” Harry yells as Louis laughs, shoving him to the side. Niall starts giggling again. “My sister isn’t pretty, she’s really really ugly!”_

_“Niall says Gemma’s pretty though,” Louis says, easily retaliating against Harry’s attacks. “I bet he even wants to_ kiss _her.”_

 _Niall just continues giggling. “Shut_ up _, Louis!” Harry’s beyond embarrassed, but it’s still Louis, so he’s still smiling. “Niall, tell him you don’t want to kiss Gemma!”_

_“I never said anything about kissing her,” Niall agrees, but it’s half-hearted. He seems to be enjoying Harry’s reactions far too much to properly deny it. “I just think she’s the prettiest girl in the whole world.”_

_“That means he wants to kiss her!” Louis shrieks and Harry tackles him, toppling them both to the ground. Harry would like to think he has Louis pinned, but really he’s just accidentally landed on top of him with his knees conveniently pressed against his shoulder blades. Harry fights to grab at his arms as Louis tries to squirm away. “He wants to kiss her every minute of every--_ ouch! _\--of every day, with their tongues, like this!” And then Louis sticks his tongue out and makes obscene windmill patterns with it, straining his neck to get right in Harry’s face. Harry flinches back and shoves his head away, and finally he’s laughing too hard and Louis is able to escape._

_Louis doesn’t get far, needing to spend another minute or so practically bent in half, laughing alongside Harry who is now helplessly splayed out on the concrete. He has no idea how Niall is able to keep it together enough to actually hold the camera, he’s usually the giddiest out of all three of them._

_When Harry finally sits up, still somehow with laughs bubbling up out of him despite his lightheadedness and strained cheeks, Niall takes notice. He turns to Louis to get his attention back on the camera. “Harry’s just jealous he’s not pretty like Gemma,” Niall says matter-of-factly, trying to get a rise out of Harry._

_Before Harry has a chance to vehemently deny Niall’s claims, however, Louis immediately turns to him with a grin and says, “I think Harry’s pretty!”_

_And...okay, Louis’ never misunderstood one of Niall’s jokes before. Not like this. He considers that maybe Louis’_ still _joking, but his smile seems too sincere for that. So Harry frowns at him. He thinks Niall does too, but it’s a bit hard to tell with his face all scrunched up against the camera’s eyepiece. “That’s not--I don’t_ want _to be pretty, Louis,” Harry says slowly._

_“But you are,” Louis says, now frowning as well. “Your--like, your smile and stuff.”_

_Harry glances at Niall, who’s still holding the camera. “No, I--I_ can’t _be pretty._ Boys _aren’t pretty,” and Harry feels something pull in his stomach._

 _There’s a second of tense silence. “Does that mean you want to..._ kiss _him?” Niall asks Louis, more serious maybe than Harry’s ever heard him._

_“I--ew, no!” Louis cringes and takes a step back from Harry. “Boys don’t kiss boys,” he adds with a degree of finality._

_Niall smirks. “So you_ do _want to kiss_ girls _, then?”_

 _“_ No _!” Louis says again, his voice getting more and more shrill. “I--I don’t want to kiss_ anyone _, kissing is gross!”_

 _And wow, Louis is getting flustered. Harry can sympathize, he’s feeling a little bit weird himself. He doesn’t really understand_ why _he said those things before, just that he got scared and started blabbing. And besides, it seemed to be what most_ other _people thought. It..._ felt _a lot like lying, but he knows he’s not lying, he knows he’s telling the truth. If the TV and the kids at school and his family say boys can’t be pretty, then boys can’t be pretty._

_Except that there’s this tight, coiling feeling in his stomach that keeps getting tighter and tighter the more he repeats it in his head._

_At least Louis is as confused as he is._

_At least Louis thinks Harry is pretty._

 


	2. Chapter 2

“You...kissed him.”

Harry flinches. “God, it’s so weird to hear someone say that out loud.”

Niall laughs once, then pauses for a moment. He’s thinking, giving the statement room to fill the silence, letting it sink in. _Harry kissed Louis_.

Harry’s surprised to find he’s able to let the silence happen without panicking again. Especially considering how much his brain has been working against him these last few hours, frantically searching through how ever many years’ worth of memories to find every reason to support Louis’ rejection. It seems weird that when the single most regrettable thing he’s ever done is mentioned, he feels almost peaceful. It’s like his anxiety has quieted down to a buzz, the night of no sleep finally catching up to him, the exhaustion that comes with multiple panic attacks finally settling in.

It’s probably just Niall, Harry thinks hazily, his eyelids drooping. He adjusts himself so he’s sitting a little closer to the boy. Niall has always been pretty good at calming him down.

“He any good?”

Harry’s eyes snap open again. “Hmm?”

“Louis, at kissing.”

Harry lets out a brief, startled laugh. “I, uh. I dunno. It was all pretty quick.”

“So it was just a peck?”

“...Not exactly.”

“Well, what _was_ it, then?” Niall says a bit impatiently, shoving Harry’s shoulder and eliciting a giggle from him.

“It was--I just sort of--” Harry sticks his arms out. “Grabbed his face, and. Y’know.”

“Stuck your tongue down his throat?”

Harry laughs and shoves Niall right back. “You’re such a shit.”

Niall steadies himself, grinning wide and staring ahead. After another few moments, “Did he kiss you back?”

“Maybe?” Harry’s only been thinking about this particular question nonstop since it happened, and still, “I’m really not sure.”

“Dude, coming from you that probably means you guys made out.”

Harry scoffs. “It lasted like, three seconds, and he ran back upstairs immediately after.”

“Wait, _he_ ran away?” Niall asks, confused. “I thought you ran.”

“We, uh. We both ran.”

“Jesus christ,” Niall mutters. “Pair of idiots, you two.”

“Hey,” Harry draws out, mock-offended.

“No, it’s a good thing! Means you’re perfect for each other.”

Harry lets himself smile at the thought, but ultimately he can’t find a response.

Niall sighs for what must be like, the hundredth time. “You sell yourself short, you know that, Haz?”

Harry stays silent, and leans down to rest his head on Niall’s shoulder.

“Like, Louis? Really? You could do so much better.” Harry outright laughs at that, and Niall rolls his eyes. “Whatever. He’s still just a person. A stupid fucking person who’s confused and doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. And I know you know that, you probably know it better than I do. But the part you always seem to forget, is that’s all _you_ have to be, too.”

Harry can’t stop staring at his hands. “That’s deep, bro,” he manages, and he thinks it might’ve come off a bit more sarcastic than he meant.

But Niall doesn’t take it to heart, just laughs instead. “Pointing out the obvious to you is what I do best.”

 *****       *       *

_The bullying doesn’t stop. It starts small but picks up pretty neatly from where they all left off the year prior. In fact, Harry barely gets his foot through room 3A’s door before the same kids from last year are hot on his heels, snickering as he passes and roughly bumping into his shoulder and taking his toys even when it’s very obvious he’s playing with them._

_So he shuts down. A bit preemptively maybe, they still haven’t said anything. But it’s the protocol he knows works; mouth shut, head down, ignore ignore ignore._

_Except. “Wait a second, he was playing with that,” a confused voice says from above him. He almost lifts his head to look but catches himself in time._

_“Uh...what?” Johnny says, slightly incredulous. Harry would have to agree._

_“He was playing with that, why don’t you get your own?” That’s. An Irish accent, right?_

_Oh. That’s Niall Horan._

_Harry, head still firmly down lets his eyes glance up, catching the edges of Johnny’s fingers tightening around the yellow truck. “I wanted this one.”_

_“That kid had it first,” Niall says, somehow unafraid in the face of Harry’s worst nightmare. “At least_ ask _if you can have it, first.”_

_Johnny’s body shifts a bit, and Harry’s eyes snap back to the ground. “Harry,” he sneers, squeezing as much contempt as he can into the two syllables. “Can I have the truck?”_

_Harry nods once._

_Niall doesn’t say anything when Johnny makes an infuriatingly satisfied little sound and saunters away, and Harry still doesn’t lift his head._

_“Your name’s Harry?” Apparently Niall’s sat down beside him. He doesn’t answer. “Harry, what was that?”_

_“He, uh. Wanted the truck,” he explains weakly._

_“So he just took it?” Niall asks as if it’s really that hard to believe. “That’s not fair.”_

_Harry shrugs. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”_

__

_And for some reason Niall doesn’t believe him. Somehow Niall is able to see when Harry’s upset, how he’s slipping into his weird shutting-down thing he does where he’ll literally say anything just so people will forget he’s there._

__

_So Niall pushes himself to his feet. “No. That’s not okay.”_

_Harry finally looks up then, because_ what _? “What?”_

_“Just a second,” he mutters before stomping off to the other side of the room._

_Harry’s eyes follow him until he’s standing over Johnny, absentmindedly pulling the truck back and forth along the table in front of him while talking to one of his friends. Harry watches in horror as Niall reaches down, grabs the truck, and walks confidently back over to him as Johnny starts yelling._

_He holds the truck out to Harry who just stares at it, dumbstruck. “Harry, take the truck.”_

_Harry’s voice catches in his throat. “I--”_

_“Harry, it’s_ your _truck, take it.”_

_“Hey, give that back!” Johnny yells as he approaches. Harry’s hands ball into fists at his sides._

_“It’s_ his _truck, you took it without asking!” Niall says, finally raising his voice._

_“He said I could have it!_

_“Yeah but you didn’t ask very nicely!”_

_“He still said it though!”_

_“And you were still mean, of course he’ll give it to you if you’re mean!”_   
_“So what, it’s mine! You can’t just take my truck!”_

_At which point the teacher intervenes and Harry has shuffled off to the corner of the room where he’s watching anxiously with his knees pulled into his chest. He watches as Niall’s face gets progressively redder, gesturing wildly as he tries to explain the situation, and Johnny’s eyebrows get more and more furrowed and Harry’s never seen a giant look so small._

_Johnny gets the truck. Niall keeps yelling and gets sent to the principal's office._

_They both get beat up after school. Routine for Harry, wholly terrifying for Niall. Despite his fear, however, Niall flails around impressively, albeit a bit aimlessly, and is even able to protect Harry a bit before Harry is able to catch sight of a window, grab his hand, and sprint all the way home._

 


	3. Chapter 3

“A machine for a machine operator...hmm, how about this machINE IT’S A NEW CAR!”

Harry’s jolted awake to a round of raucous cheering blaring from his television. Lifting his head a bit more, he’s confused by the sound and more so by the body he’s leaning on, until he recognizes Niall’s voice.

“Sorry mate, must’ve leaned on the remote, turned the volume way up,” he apologizes, wrenching the remote out from under him. Harry just grunts and sits himself upright, pushing his hair back from his face to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

“Price Is Right?” he mumbles tiredly.

“It’s three in the afternoon,” Niall says with a shrug. “It’s what’s on.”

“Why does every contestant insist on humping Drew Carey,” another voice comments from the couch across the room.

“Oh. Hey Zayn.”

“‘Sup H,” he says without taking his focus away from the show.

“What do you mean, humping Drew Carey.”

“Ni, look at--are you even watching the show?” Zayn chides, frowning. “They’re all humping Drew Carey when they get called up.”

“They’re just excited, bro.”

“Yeah, so excited they’re humping Drew Carey.”

“Not _humping_ , just, like.” Niall searches for the term. “Jumping up and down a bit.”

“While tightly hugging Drew Carey,” Harry mutters, earning a snap of Zayn’s fingers in his general direction.

“Exactly.”

The statement is conveniently followed by the current contestant (an industrial machine operator from rural Wisconsin) winning the car, and very, _very_ blatantly humping Drew Carey out of pure, unadulterated excitement. Zayn makes a gesture at the TV.

“Yeah, well,” Niall mutters, admitting defeat. “Who wouldn’t.”

“Hump Drew Carey?” Zayn says on a laugh. “You trying to tell us something, bro?”

“Handsome man like that giving me luxury formal dining sets and portable hot tubs?” Niall says, his tone serious. “Please, I’d go gay for Drew Carey in a heartbeat.”

Harry and Zayn burst out laughing at that, and for a full twenty minutes after waking up Harry is able to feel _normal_. Just joking around, yelling obnoxiously at the contestants on the screen, guessing prices and feeling genuine pride when getting the closest out of the three of them.

Until he remembers. “Oh fuck.”

“What is it?” Niall asks, only able to afford Harry a glance in his direction. Theresa’s about to win a trip to Costa Rica, after all.

But Harry’s kind of frozen. “Oh. Fuck oh fuck oh fuck.” Kind of stuck on loop, too.

“Uh,” Zayn starts, twisting around to face him. “You okay there, buddy?”

“I kissed Louis,” he says quietly, frowning hard at the wall above the TV. His fingers start trembling. “I kissed Louis, Zayn, I kissed him. On the--I. Oh _fuck_.”

“Oh, yeah, I heard,” he says casually, turning back around. “Good on ya.”

Harry fixes a glare at Niall who must’ve been expecting it, because he’s able to shrug without actually looking over. “Thought I’d bring him up to speed.”

“Yeah, you think you got all of it?” Harry rushes, heart rate quickly rising. “Got him all up to speed on how everything is totally irreversibly _fucked_? Because if so, why the _fuck_ are we just sitting here watching _The Price Is Right_?”

“You’re being dramatic,” Zayn deadpans, and Harry seriously wants to whack him. “What should we be doing, then, if this is so unproductive?. Louis’ at his soccer tournament all day, yeah?”

“I--I dunno,” Harry stammers, anger and fear growing at a simultaneous pace. “Not pretending like everything is fucking _normal_ , that’s for damn sure.”

Niall sighs and mutes the television. And suddenly everything is quiet, and it’s too fucking quiet, Harry’s brain takes a sharp turn and is very very quickly getting out of control, “No no no, that’s worse,” he says, truly panicked.

“What?”

“Just--just turn it back on.”

“I--okay,” Niall says, startled but obliging.

But the return of Drew Carey’s semi-witty banter doesn’t do much to quell Harry’s rapidly rising panic. He can’t be still, he can’t be sitting down anymore, he’s going to fucking explode if he doesn’t start moving right now.

But.

Apparently he can’t _stand_ either, because as soon as he’s on his own two feet his head starts swimming, all the blood rushing up at once and without really registering it he’s stumbling forward and slamming his shin into the coffee table with a loud _thunk_.

“Fucking--” He doesn’t have much time though to curse and focus on the sudden, violent pain in his shin because he still doesn’t quite have his balance, he’s still falling. He tries to catch his feet up with the rest of his body but it’s useless, he stumbles another couple steps before falling on his ass and slamming his head back against the wall.

Zayn and Niall both lurch to their feet in the midst of his fall, but their reactions are far too delayed to be able to offer any actual help.

“Harry,” Zayn grumbles softly as he takes his time to steady himself. Niall, on the other hand, dives right down and goes to help Harry up again. “No, leave him there,” Zayn instructs, and Niall promptly drops his arm.

“M’fine,” Harry mumbles, rubbing the back of his head. “Shit, sorry.”

“The fuck are you apologizing for,” Niall laughs, staying knelt beside the boy. He gives him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “It’s _your_ house you seem keen on destroying.”

“Are you okay?” Zayn asks, ignoring Niall and staring intently at Harry.

“I said I’m fine.”

“No, like, are you done freaking out?”

Harry checks back in with himself, and really, all signs point towards no, he’s not okay, why would you bring it up again, Zayn, he’s clearly going to freak out again. But his headbutt with the wall must’ve knocked some sense into him or something, reminded him that the world still exists with all its sharp corners and hard surfaces and is not, in fact, crumbling all around him.

“Yeah, I think I’m fine. Help me up?”

“In a sec,” Zayn says while waving off Niall’s immediate offer. “Catch your breath. Have you had anything to eat today?”

“Uh.” Harry thinks back. “No.”

“Right, so we need to get you something to eat.”

Harry shakes his head, the thought of eating actual food completely nauseating. “I’m really not hungry.”

“You still need to eat,” Zayn insists as he backs up towards Harry’s kitchen.

“There’s nothing there,” Harry calls out, but Zayn ignores him. “Really, my mom hasn’t gone shopping yet. Also Niall’s been here for, y’know, longer than twenty minutes.”

Zayn immediately swivels back around at that. “Good point.”

Niall’s completely unbothered. “Dirty Diner?” he suggests eagerly.

“Absolutely not,” Harry says firmly right as Zayn says “Perfect,” and Harry just sighs and lets Niall pull him to his feet because really, he knows better than to resist Zayn when he’s concerned and Niall when he’s hungry.

*       *       *

_Harry can’t quite find the word to describe how he’s feeling. Maybe because most words apply. He feels sedated but jittery, calm but tense, happy but just a little bit sad. There’s a tightness in his chest but a fond smile on his face, and he doesn’t know what it is about seeing Louis perform that does this to him, makes his insides all muddled and his brain lightning sharp._

_He doesn’t feel too desperate to figure it out though, all hidden in the back of the theater where the lights are dimmed. Here he can just sit and stew in every mixed up feeling that comes his way, feel them as freely as he wants, because who’s going to see him._

_It’s the closest thing to a fire escape he can get while in school._

_He’s not really supposed to be here. Mrs. Rivera sent him to fetch some extension cords about an hour ago, but even when Harry manages to run her errands in a timely manner she just seems to forget about him until he shows up again. He figures his presence won’t be all that missed. Rehearsal has pretty much ended anyway, and no one was ever sent out to look for him. That’s the way it usually is._

_He would leave at this point, would have already left actually, but Louis’ been called back by the music director to work out some extra harmonies with the female lead, and jeez, despite Louis being his ride home, if he has to pinpoint a single thing most responsible for the constriction he feels in his chest, it’s hearing Louis sing._

_“Hey, kid.”_

_The proximity of the voice startles him, his ears having been attuned to those on the stage a hundred feet away for at least a couple hours now. He whips his head around and finds himself looking at the sound booth, where Nick Grimshaw is stood in the doorway, waving for him to come over._

_Or...someone behind him, maybe? Harry looks over his shoulder to check, honestly expecting to find someone else, because surely he isn’t talking to_ him _. But Nick just makes an impatient noise. “Yeah, you, the only one left in the theater. C’mere.”_

 _Harry rises to his feet and shuffles over, crossing his arms and ducking sheepishly through the doorway when the gangly teenager gestures for him to come inside. Nick closes the door behind him and plops down into a spinny chair, and what the hell is Harry doing in a cramped room alone with_ Nick Grimshaw _. Harry’s crowd isn’t really the jaded, perpetually grumpy senior-type who hate all middle schoolers with a passion._

_Well. Harry’s “crowd” is mainly Louis and Niall, but that’s besides the point._

_“What’s your name,” he asks. But not really, it’s more of an order._

_“Harry Styles.”_

_“What exactly do you do here, Harry Styles.” And wow, Louis is right, Nick Grimshaw really does have a way of sounding super condescending with just the simplest sentences._

_“I, uh. I work backstage.”_

_“You work backstage,” Nick repeats, and Harry’s not really sure if he’s supposed to confirm that or not, so he just gives a small nod. “What’re you doing holed up in the back of the theater, then?”_

_“Um.” Harry scratches the back of his neck, ready to recite the half-assed excuse he prepared in case anyone came up to him. “Mrs. Rivera doesn’t really need me that often, so I was taking a break.”_

_Nick looks skeptical, but Harry hopes that’s just how his face is. “You sit out there every rehearsal. For like, hours.”_

_And fuck, the back of the theater is nothing like the fire escape, absolutely_ nothing _. It’s like he’s been caught in some big horrible secret that he didn’t even know was a big horrible secret until someone found out. He feels his cheeks get hot and he shoves his hands into his sweatshirt to make sure Nick won’t notice when his fingers start trembling. His voice, however, is far ahead of his fingers. “Uh.” What is he supposed to say? What was the question again? Was there even a question? “Yes?”_

_Nick doesn’t say anything after that, just stares at Harry, who is really just trying to find anywhere else to look because if he looks directly at Nick he’ll probably start crying._

_Nick jabs his thumb towards the booth’s large window. “Who’s that?”_

_Harry turns as well, sees he’s indicating the stage. “Louis Tomlinson and Eleanor Calder,” he answers, and wow, he almost adds “sir” at the end there, and his cheeks ridiculously get even hotter at just the thought of it. “Both eighth graders.”_

_“You know either of them?”_

_“I don’t really know Eleanor that well,” Harry admits, thankful at least for questions he has answers to. “But Louis’ my best friend.”_

_“Aha,” Nick says, his smile a bit unsettling. “There it is.”_

_When he doesn’t continue, Harry risks, “There what is?”_

_“Do you like him?” he immediately throws instead._

_“He’s, y’know.” Harry pauses, waiting pointlessly for Nick to jump in. “He’s my best friend, so. Yeah.”_

_“Not what I meant and you know it,” Nick says, idly pushing himself back and forth on his spinny chair. “Come on, I’m just trying to get in on all the hot sixth grade gossip. Stay hip with the kids.”_

_“...Okay?”_

_“Okay?” Nick mocks, laughing a little to himself, and Harry has to focus on keeping his knees from giving out. “So. Y’ever had a girlfriend, Harry?”_

_What the_ hell _is going on. “No?”_

_“You ever think about why that is?”_

_“I’m...twelve?”_

_Nick ponders that for a moment. “Right,” he eventually decides. “Fair enough. You’ve gotta have a crush on_ someone _though, yeah?”_

_Harry shifts uncomfortably. Everything about this is uncomfortable. “Uh, no. Guess not.”_

_“Oh come on,” Nick scoffs, and Harry flinches. “Being twelve_ means _having big huge disgusting crushes on people.”_

_Harry just shrugs._

_“You’re telling me you’ve been in middle school for almost a full year now and you’ve never had a crush on anyone?”_

_“I guess,” Harry mumbles._

_Nick crosses his arms and furrows his brow, giving Harry a considering look. “You know you stare at Louis an awful lot, right?”_

_And even if Harry had an answer, his throat has closed up too much to give one._

_“That is Louis, yeah? The kid playing Danny Zuko?” Harry hopes his silence is answer enough. But Nick just continues to search his face, and when Harry accidentally makes eye contact with him for a split second, he’s surprised to find that his expression has lost a bit of its edge. He looks almost sad, or something. “You ever think you might have a crush on him?”_

_Harry’s stomach drops. Like, past his feet, through the floor, down to the center of the fucking earth. “What?” is all he manages to squeak out._

_Nick just sighs, sitting forward a bit in his chair. “It’s alright to have a crush on Louis. God knows all the girls already do.”_

_Harry forces himself to swallow painfully around the lump in his throat. “You think I’m gay.” You think I’m gay, you think I’m gay. Gay gay gay gay--_

_“I think you might be confused,” Nick defends. “And maybe I’m an asshole for assuming that. But no one ever told_ me _any that shit when I was your age, and frankly, it’s a bitch to have to figure out on your own.”_

_“I’m not gay,” Harry whispers after another second, and even he can tell he doesn’t sound that convincing._

_“I’m not saying you’re gay,” Nick says on another sigh, visibly trying to hide his frustration. “There’s a lot of things you could be. Way more than just gay or straight, I mean. Just--It’s okay to be confused. It’s okay to question this stuff. And it’s okay to have crushes on your best friend, even if he’s a boy.”_

_Harry’s staring hard at the ground, can see the fabric of his sweatshirt pockets vibrating slightly. He desperately wants to get out of here. “Okay,” he manages, and it’s so shaky and soft, he’s never felt so god damn young._

_Nick sighs one final time, spinning his chair back around to face the window. “Alright, enough of this sappy shit. Get the hell out of here, you’re stinking up the booth with your prepubescence.”_

_When Harry finally restores the connection between his brain and his feet, he scrambles out of that room and back into the theater so fast he almost careens straight into a row of seats. First thing he notices is that he can’t see a thing. Maybe it’s because he can feel that dull, growing burn behind his eyes that comes from holding back tears, or maybe it’s the stark contrast between the fluorescently lit soundbooth and the dim lights illuminating the theater seats, or maybe it’s because Harry’s mind is reeling and has a million other things to focus on and worry about rather than some petty thing like sight._

_Well. One other thing._

_Once his eyes adjust enough that he can make out the general outlines of big objects, he makes the move to stumble down the steps dividing the sea of seats, and instinctively circles around to the backstage entrance. He goes in, quickly locates his backpack (haphazardly thrown under one of the prop tables), and heads right out onto the stage towards the main door._

_“Oh, uh--are you--”_

_And Harry literally jumps about two feet in the air out of fright, almost throwing himself directly into the orchestra pit and god_ fucking _dammit, are you fucking joking, all these people need to stop fucking sneaking up on him all the time. He narrowly saves himself with a few windmill motions with his arms, his toes terrifyingly close to the edge, when a pair of hands grips his forearm and pulls him back to safety._

_“Christ, you alright, man?”_

_Well, apart from the fact that Harry’s knees are shaking worse than ever, “Yeah, um. Sorry. You scared me.” Harry tries to throw a laugh in there but it just comes out forced._

_“Scared me too,” the boy says with a soft chuckle. “Thought I was the only one left, to be honest.”_

_“Yeah, no, was held back a bit,” Harry rushes, keeping his head down as he begins to back up towards the doorway. “You seen Louis around anywhere? He’s, uh. In the show,” he tacks on as an afterthought._

_“Oh, are you Harry?”_

_And this surprises Harry enough that he ends up compromising his whole “I will avoid looking up at all costs” plan and makes eye contact with the boy for the first time, with his surely distraught expression and embarrassingly watery eyes and all._

_And as he takes in the boy, all perfectly tan skin and wide brown eyes and a deflated, adorable quiff, something inside Harry crumbles just that little bit more as he realizes he finds this boy incredibly attractive. And apparently he’s been holding his breath. “Fuck,” he accidentally mutters on his exhale, and the boy just raises his eyebrows in growing confusion. Harry catches himself far too late and rushes to apologize. “No no, uh, sorry, I’m--yeah, I’m him. Harry, I mean. Sorry.”_

_“Right,” the boy says slowly. “Well, Louis was asking around for you earlier, apparently he was going to drive you home? But he finished late and assumed you’d left, so.” The boy ends with a shrug._

_“Oh,” Harry says. He glances around. “Well, shit.”_

_“If you feel like sticking around for another half hour, my mom can drive you home,” the boy offers easily. “I’m Zayn, by the way.”_

_“That’s.” Wow. “Awfully nice of you,” Harry stammers, surprised at the boy’s unexpected kindness._

_“It’s no problem,” Zayn says before reaching down to pick up a paint palette. “You any good at art?”_

_“No,” Harry admits. “Never have been. My, uh, art abilities pretty much peak at Thanksgiving hand turkeys.”_

_Zayn laughs at that, and Harry smiles in relief. “Come help paint the sky, then. It’s huge, I doubt you’ll have much trouble.”_

_“Thanks,” Harry says sincerely as Zayn hands him a blue and a brush._

_Zayn smiles his response and ducks off to the corner of the backdrop. Harry gets up on a stepstool, preparing his brush, but he’s not sure what to do about the clouds, so he turns back to Zayn and his words catch in his throat because that, what Zayn’s painting on the side of a building--_

_“Is that--are you painting a tiny Bat Signal into the set?” he asks, just a little incredulous._

_“Yeah,” Zayn laughs. “I like to sneak little things like this in when no one else’s around. Mrs. Rivera always gives a good show when she finds them.”_

_“That’s brilliant,” Harry admires, and Zayn gives a humble shrug._

_“Always thought musicals could do with more superheroes.”_

_And Harry swears he hears an actual clicking noise inside his head. “You like superheroes?”_

_Zayn looks over at him and nods, grinning wide. “Love ‘em. You?”_

 


	4. Chapter 4

“Give it up, man,” Harry grumbles, temporarily raising his head from where it’s resting on the table to glare at Zayn. “We’ve been having this argument for five years.”

“And you’re still just as much of an idiot as you were when you were twelve,” Zayn insists, and Harry rolls his eyes and lands his forehead back on the edge of the restaurant table. It’s a bit sticky, but he’s beyond the point of caring. “You’re never going to have a winning team without Wolverine in the mix.”

“He’s all brawn, dude,” Harry continues tiredly. “He’s got the whole invincible thing, sure, but pair him with _Superman_? You can’t have double brawn, you need a team who’s a little less predictable than just _Imma punch as hard as I can until the thing goes away_.”

“Are you guys still talking about that X-Men movie?” Niall asks disinterestedly.

And Harry is staring at his thighs, but from the small sound of protest that comes next he assumes Zayn has just flicked Niall’s ear. “No, we're not talk--Have you really been _that_ zoned out for this long?”

But Niall just ignores him and lets out a delighted little noise instead. “Aha! They have something called a Schwarzenegger Omelette Delight,” he mumbles happily, and while Zayn mutters some more insults, Harry just has to laugh. He loves Niall so much.

“What’s in it?” Harry asks the floor.

“Doesn’t matter,” Niall says definitively. “An omelette represented by the greatest actor of all time has got to be good.”

And out of pure instinct Harry lifts his head and kicks Niall hard in the shin, right as Zayn huffs out his most exasperated sigh yet. “Ow!” he says in a hilariously high pitched voice, giving Harry a deeply offended look. “What’cha do that for?”

  
“The greatest actor of _all time_?” Zayn presses, and Niall instantly switches into a look full of both realization and utter regret. Niall speaks in sweeping absolutes all the time without actually meaning them, but even from him, absolute statements about film are never smart to make around Zayn.

“‘Scuse me!” Harry calls out, instantly to the rescue, and thankfully one of the waiters near the front catches sight of him.

Zayn continues regardless. “Just--Niall, listen, how familiar are you with forties Film Noir?”

“...The fuck do you think, bro?”

And even though Niall is just sitting there giving him that _look_ , Zayn takes it completely seriously. “See that’s just _it_ , if you’re not going to educate yourself on the classics--”

“Kindergarten Cop is a modern fucking masterpiece, don’t even deny it,” Harry interrupts, and without missing a beat, turns cheerily to the waiter. “Hi, we would like some food please.”

“Alright?” the waiter says a bit warily, glancing between Harry and the now thoroughly pissed off Zayn, shooting daggers at the side of Harry’s head. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh.” Harry sits back a bit. “Hadn’t gotten that far. One sec,” and he snatches up Niall’s menu.

Niall orders his Schwarzenegger Omelette Delight and Zayn his classic burger and fries, and god, just looking at the menu makes Harry want to hurl. “Uh,” he stalls. “What do you have in the way of cubed fruit?”

“He’ll have the diner cheeseburger, thanks,” Zayn cuts in, threateningly enough that the waiter doesn’t even question it.

Harry throws him another glare, but decides it’s probably best not to argue. “Side of cubed fruit, then?” he tells the waiter, half-asking Zayn for permission.

And Zayn doesn’t protest so the waiter jots it down and steps away from the table with less than subtle hurry, and Harry thuds his head back down on the sticky-ass table for the third time.

“You’re gonna give yourself a concussion,” Zayn mumbles.

“Will it make me forget the last twenty-four hours?”

“Right." Zayn smacks him on the top of his head to make him look up. “We need to talk about this.”

It works, but Harry makes sure to keep his expression thoroughly resentful as he rubs at his bruise. “Hitting me on the head, making me eat," he grumbles. "A real friend would just let me die of starvation."

“It’s really not that bad,” Zayn says, and Harry’s amazed his words don’t sound more annoyed.

“I kissed him, and he ran,” Harry states, leaning back against the booth with a squeak of its springs, staring at the Splenda packet Niall is fiddling with. “I don’t see any silver linings, do you, Ni?”

Niall doesn’t answer, just keeps his focus down while nudging Zayn to start talking again. “Louis has feelings for you. You know that, right?” he says, slowly as if the words actually hold any weight.

“You’ve been saying that for years.”

Zayn is quick to agree. “Yeah, I know. I’ve known Louis’ had feelings for you longer than Louis, probably.”

Harry snorts. “Fucking genie, you are.”

“It’s so obvious though, H,” Zayn says, his tone even more insistent. “I don’t know how to explain it. You two--you don’t look at each other like people who just want to be friends.”

“That I can agree with,” Niall says, giving Harry a reassuring smile when he looks his way.

But Harry just exhales sharply and runs a hand through his hair. “Why’d he run?”

“Because _you_ ran,” Zayn answers simply, and Harry snorts again. “Seriously, Harry, the only reason he keeps turning you down is because _you_ keep chickening out. You’re making it seem like you’re unsure about your feelings, and Louis doesn’t--I dunno. Louis doesn’t _do_ unsure.”

“What?” Harry says, more biting than he expected, but Zayn takes it in stride.

“Just think, since when has Louis ever shied away from his feelings?”

“Since always,” Harry and Niall both recite at the same time, and they share the saddest fist bump in all of history.

“Well, yeah, he’s not _explicit_ about how he feels,” Zayn clarifies. “Doesn’t explain himself or anything. But he wears his heart on his sleeve. If he’s bothered or angry or depressed, he fucking shows it.” Zayn pauses there, waiting for a response. “I’m right?”

“I guess,” Harry admits.

“‘Course I’m right.” And somehow it still comes off humble, because god damn Zayn and those cartoonishly large, innocent eyes. “So logically, right, show your feelings in a way that’s forward and confident, and he’ll return it.”

“Kissing him isn’t forward enough?” Harry says, noticing in annoyance that his fingers have started quivering. He grits his teeth and stuffs his hands between his ass and the seat. “There’s not exactly much left to confess after that.”

“There was _never_ much to confess, dude,” Zayn laughs. “We're not talking about _confessing_ anything. You’re so fucking obvious anyway, even when you don’t mean to be.”

Harry gives Zayn a worried look, then turns to Niall. “Am I really?”

And Niall just shrugs, which might as well mean _you’ve pretty much been fucking this whole thing up for years_ , and Harry groans.

"Wait," he starts again. "Then I don't see what the problem is. If I've been obvious, and it's apparently a sure thing he has feelings for me, then why the fuck hasn't he done anything? Why does--" And Harry's voice catches in his throat then, and he hates how god damn pathetic he sounds. He buries his face in his hands and lets out an exaggerated groan. "Why does he keep turning me down?"

"Because." Zayn takes a second to collect his thoughts. "With Louis, it really is all about the confidence. The kiss, for example. You negate the forwardness of the kiss by running away,” he says, like it’s a math problem Harry’s too dumb to understand. “So just. Make up for it.”

“And how exactly do I do that?” Harry asks, still muffled from his hands.

“I dunno.” Zayn pries his hands away from his face. “Something dramatic.” And Harry rolls his eyes, because of _course_. “Not, like, anything crazy. I’m not telling you to hold up a boombox in front of his window or anything. No Cusack shit, I swear. Just something honest, but also romantic.”

“Suck his dick,” Niall recommends, and Harry laughs despite himself. Zayn, however, presses his lips together and whacks him firmly on the back of the head. “ _Jesus_!” Niall exclaims, pulling another dramatic expression of hurt as he rubs the point of impact. “Would you two stop it with the physical abuse? It's sound advice, fellatio fixes everything!"

Zayn closes his eyes for a moment before turning back to Harry. “Bake him something.”

Harry’s neck scrunches back in instant dislike. “ _Bake_ him something?”

“Yeah, you used to do it all the time,” Zayn reasons. “Them little key lime things Louis likes. Bake some, bring them out to the fire escape, you’re pretty much settled.”

“All my problems can’t be solved with mini tartlets, Zayn.”

“Maybe he’s right, though,” Niall offers tentatively. “Not about the tartlets. But like, maybe planning something out _would_ help you. I mean, you do always get really nervous in the moment.”

Harry frowns. “But I’m always nervous.”

“Not with Louis, you’re not,” Zayn counters. “If you were actually always nervous, you never would’ve kissed him in the first place.”

And he has a fair point, so Harry has to nod. “All you have to do,” Zayn continues slowly, “is follow through. Follow through, and you’re golden.”

*       *       *

_“Four hours.”_

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“It’s officially been four hours and you won’t even let me eat.”_

_Liam gives Niall his best puppy eyes through the rearview mirror. “I’m really sorry.”_

_“Won’t even tell me where we’re going.”_

_“We’ll be there soon, I swear.”_

_“You’ve said that, like, a million_ billion _times, though,” Niall whines, getting progressively more childish as the ride drags on. He’s been jittering his leg for awhile now too, Harry’s noticed. “It can’t be_ that _great. I just want to know where we’re going.”_

_Nobody answers him, and for a minute the only sounds in the car are a distant grumbling of tires against tarmac, and a slight whistling from where the driver’s side window won’t quite close up all the way._

_But then Niall breathes deep and gives a dramatic sigh. “Liam.”_

_Liam smartly doesn’t respond. But Niall keeps at it. “Liam. Liam. Liam. Lee-yum. Liam. Liam. Liam.”_

_“What?!” he finally snaps._

_Niall cracks a smile, then drops it just as quick. “Liam, where are we going?”_

_Louis takes that moment to reach across Harry (hand just brushing across the dip in his tee shirt, oh_ god _) and whack Niall in the chest. “It’s a fucking surprise, you moron.”_

_Niall rubs at his chest, a sour expression on his face. “I hate surprises.”_

_“Shut up, you love surprises.”_

_“Not when I’m hungry, I don’t.”_

_“You don’t like anything when you’re hungry,” Liam laughs._

_Niall thinks for a moment, before shooting Liam an overly sincere smile and saying, “I like_ you _. I like you the most.”_

_Liam, like the idiot he is, returns the smile easily. “Yeah?”_

_“Yeah.” And Niall looks back to the window for no longer than two seconds before he’s turned his head again. “Liam, where are we going?”_

_They keep at it for another couple minutes. Or hours. Harry couldn’t really say. He’s not really keeping track of much right now, his brain somehow convincing itself that the entire world consists of nothing but Louis and the proximity of Louis and exactly what this proximity to Louis might entail. He focuses on the way the second he hopped into the middle seat of the back of Liam’s car, Louis wrapped his foot around his ankle, instantly attaching them at the thigh. He focuses on the way Louis is fiddling with the tattered sleeve of Harry’s sweatshirt, their fingers just barely brushing every couple of minutes. He focuses on how instinctual it is to lean into Louis’ side, how immediately Louis accepts it and shifts a bit to accomodate. It’s all so natural for them, this constant contact, but there’s something distinctly different now. Even though this is exactly how it’s been for as long as Harry can remember, there’s something new distracting him. Some foreign weight to these familiar interactions, because honestly, Harry doesn’t remember ever being so hyperaware of feeling the slight rise and fall of Louis’ breath._

_He blames Zayn._

_Because ever since he confessed to him his disgustingly huge crush on this boy, his words of advice have been hovering in the back of his mind, a constant accompaniment to all of his thoughts._

_(“Definitely. I’d say he’s liked you for awhile.”)_

_(“I dunno, compliment him.”)_

_(“Be suggestive. Like, make suggestive jokes or something.”)_

_(“Wait, no, why am I telling you to make_ more _jokes.”)_

 _(“Just do_ something _. Flirt with him, show him you like him.”)_

_Flirt with him flirt with him flirt with him._

_And where does ankle-wrapping sleeve-fiddling arm-leaning behavior fit into all that, exactly?_

_What is he supposed to_ do _?_

_Harry’s at a total loss._

_(“But dude, spring break. DC is the perfect place, we’ll be there all day. Do it then.”)_

_Harry’s just been trying to figure out what “it” is._

_He’s always imagined what it’d be like to go on a road trip with Louis. Cheap motels and midwestern backroads, tight budgets and Dorito-centric diets. Long nights and actual stars. Harry’s never seen actual stars before._

_He’s never laid next to Louis on the roof of a car and stared up at actual stars, either. He thinks he might like to._

_This is where Louis would tell him he’s basically the embodiment of a bad teen romance novel, and honestly, Harry’s feeling pathetic enough that he might not have argued with him._

_He supposes Washington DC is maybe not the most expected road trip destination for five New York-based teenagers. Certainly not the most romantic for two, but that’s far from the point. None of them know much about the city, they all assume it to be a pretty bland place, and why would anyone want to travel four hours for a day trip in another city when New York is right outside their homes?_

_Because they’re good fucking friends, that’s why. The best there are._

_Liam turns the car engine off eventually, the sudden quiet is a bit jarring. They all sit together in the odd silence, anticipation radiating between them. Finally, Niall glances out the window, realizes what’s happened, and promptly chokes on his own spit. “Oh my god.”_

_Zayn’s the first to crack, laughing brightly and turning round in his seat to beam at the boy. “Yeah.”_

_Niall isn’t smiling. He’s just looking individually at each of the other boys with wide eyes and the most satisfying look of disbelief. One of his hands flails and grasps around a bit until it finds Harry’s knee, where it grips painfully tight, and Harry can’t help but laugh too. Niall lurches forward and scrunches his face against the glass, tilting up as far as he can. “Oh my_ god _.”_

_Louis lets out a fond little laugh himself and briefly nuzzles his head into the crook of Harry’s neck, and Harry’s surprised he hasn’t melted into the upholstery. Niall is still looking back and forth between the window and the boys. “Oh...my god, oh my god, oh my god.”_

_“Would you just get out of the car?” Harry says then, and it’s like flipping a switch because with that Niall is gone, practically falling out onto the hot pavement and sprinting on wobbly, car-constricted legs while screaming, “NANDOOOOOOOOO’S!”_

_He’s disappeared inside the front door before any of the other boys have moved a muscle._

_Liam looks back at the rest of them, smiling proudly. “Shall we?”_

_Harry thinks he catches Zayn smirk when he sees him and Louis struggling a bit to untangle themselves, but he’s out the door too quick for him to really be sure._

_“Agh,” Zayn immediately exclaims once he’s standing. “Sun. Bright. Agh.”_

_“It’s so blue,” Liam comments, somehow completely unbothered by the light. “Seriously, how is the sky so blue?”_

_They all look up then, and yeah, the sky is weirdly blue. Maybe it’s something about being trapped in the car for four hours straight, but it seems especially vibrant. Like._

_Oh no. Is this an opportunity? Is this the kind of thing that Zayn’s always talking about? Should Harry be doing something? Oh god, what’s going on, what should he do?_

_“Like Louis’ eyes.”_

_Fuck. Why did he just do that._

_Zayn just snorts and Liam gives him a weird look, but after that the both of them are headed for the door. Louis, however, stays put for a bit longer. “What?” he asks on a laugh, squinting up at the taller boy._

_And Harry tries his hardest to stop his heart from hammering its way out of his chest, but the attempt is futile. “You’ve got really nice eyes, Louis.”_

_Harry doesn’t really know what he expected, but Louis just nodding like Harry’s told him he’s hungry wasn’t exactly it. Before he can think of anything else, Louis starts towards the door. “You coming?”_

_________

_Twenty minutes into the meal and Harry can’t quite believe Niall is real. He knows in the back of his mind he shouldn’t really be surprised anymore by the things he can achieve. Niall’s always kind of been an anomaly, his physical abilities never quite abiding by the laws of nature. Harry’s seen him fight off bullies three times his size, successfully play goalie on a full size pitch as a kid just over 5’2”, and now, he’s seeing the very same skinny-ass Irishman shoveling peri-peri chicken and whatever the fuck else into his mouth at near constant rate, somehow temporarily discarding his need for oxygen in favor of fitting more food down his throat._

_“Best day of my life,” he garbles at some point, bits of chicken escaping as he talks. “S’everything I’ve always wanted. Like, I think I’ve died.”_

_Harry’s hand hesitates on its way to his mouth. “You what?”_

_“I’ve died. This is so good I’ve died.”_

_“That’s not the expression, bro.”_

_“Yeah, it’s ‘you’ve died and gone to heaven,’” Louis finishes._

_“Oh.” Niall slows his chewing to a less furious pace, thinking for moment. “What if I don’t believe in heaven?”_

_“Then you’re just having a really fucking good time,” Zayn says, laughing when Niall tries to beam at him with his cheeks stuffed with food. “Ugh,” he mumbles, turning away with a small smile. “You’re gross.”_

_Louis lets out a little laugh then, a prelude to, “Ni, you remember the day you found out there was no Nando’s in New York?”_

_Niall pauses his chewing briefly to think, before widening his eyes and grinning again. “Oh yeah! Right after--” And finally, he stops himself so that he can swallow. “Right after I got back from Ireland, right? I was like, nine. Think I cried.”_

_“You definitely cried,” Harry laughed._

_Louis nodded his agreement. “Hard. Like, you were sobbing.”_

_“He was probably in distress,” Liam comforts, rubbing Niall’s back briefly. Niall acknowledges the comment with a particularly giant bite of chicken, so big his mouth won’t close all the way._

_“You’re a ridiculous human being, you know that?” Louis says, and Niall shrugs because he’s Niall, and he’s at Nando’s, and he’s probably just used to it._

_Harry uses the lull in conversation to loudly clear his throat, followed by a “‘Scuse me,” and a quick grab for one of Louis’ fries. Louis predictably smacks his hand away._

_“No way, Harold,” he scolds._

_Harry gives his most charming smile. “One?”_

_“Fuck off, it’s your own fault you didn’t order any fries.”_

_Harry’s deeply offended. “I didn’t want a whole order!”_

_“You made your choice, now stick with it," Louis says, remaining firm._

_“What’s_ one _fry?”_

_“He’s been stealing from you this whole time, y’know,” Liam tattles, and Harry gives him a betrayed look._

_Louis, however, turns to him, mouth gaping and expression full of exaggerated hurt, and Harry can’t help but smile in anticipation of whatever Louis’ about to do to exact revenge._

_“You piece of shit,” Louis spits, and he’s totally smiling, the fucker. He reaches over and tears off a huge piece of Harry’s garlic bread._

_“Hey!” Harry yells, taking hold of Louis’ wrist. “You’re seriously stealing my bread?”_

_“I’m just taking what’s mine.”_

_“Last I checked this garlic bread wasn’t yours.”_

_“Uh, who the fuck you think those fries belonged to?”_

_It’s a pointless argument and Louis, realizing Harry’s grip is too strong to squirm away, decides to give in and dive across the table (and more importantly, into Harry’s lap) and strains his neck to take a bite._

_Harry tries to wrestle the bread away but Louis keeps squirming and reaching determinedly, and with an accidental elbow in the stomach Louis gets his bite, relinquishing what’s left of the bread with a muffled yell of victory._

_It takes Harry a couple of seconds to remember to let go of Louis’ hand. He’s too focused on the fact that they’re now slightly on top of each other, Louis’ leg having wrapped itself behind his at some point, at the time probably for leverage, and now just for the sake of closeness._

_Everyone else has kind of tuned them out, so Harry settles himself a little more into the new position, just like in the car, and he’s never felt so lucky to have something so familiar._

_Right as Harry decides to get back to his food, he feels a hard kick in his leg from across the table._

_He looks up in mild annoyance and is faced with Zayn, with his head bent down towards his plate. He’s glancing back and forth between Harry and Louis, and Harry just frowns, confused, looking over at Louis to check if something is wrong, but he’s just sitting there listening contentedly to whatever Liam and Niall are currently talking about. He turns back to Zayn, deepening his frown._

_Zayn rolls his eyes and gives Harry a frustrated look. He briefly glances at the other three, before wiping at the corner of his mouth._

_Harry just stares._

_Zayn wipes a bit more furiously._

_Harry gives a silent “oh” of realization and wipes at the corner of his own mouth, checking the back of his hand for remnants of food. When he looks back up though, Zayn is looking at him like he wants to throttle him._

_He gives one final, vigorous wipe at his face, then not-so-subtly juts his head at Louis. Harry turns then, checking the side of his face, and oh._

_There’s a little piece of basil clinging about a centimeter below Louis’ bottom lip._

_He looks back at Zayn, then back at Louis, then back at Zayn. Is he implying--_

_Zayn does the movement again._

_He turns to Louis. Okay, that’s a bit. Forward._

_Which is the point, right?_

_“Zayn, pass the ketchup,” Niall says when Harry’s turned back to Zayn yet another time, feeling a bit panicked. Zayn just nods insistently at him one before passing Niall the bottle._

_Niall unfortunately catches sight of the movement and frowns a bit at Zayn. “What’re you doing?”_

_“Nothing,” both Zayn and Harry say, and Niall’s confused and Zayn looks absolutely done._

_“Uh, Louis,” Harry starts, feeling stupid and panicky and desperate to redeem himself. The boy throws a fry into his mouth and turns to him and oh god, he’s really about to do this. “You have, um. A bit of.” He gestures to his own chin. “When you--the bread, it had some--”_

_And, understandably, Louis wipes at his own face and Harry almost yells at him to stop, that’s not the point, he’s supposed to do that, that’s what flirting is, Louis, unnecessarily intimate physical contact. He takes a steadying breath when Louis misses it completely. “No, it’s more--”_

_And as he’s going for it (he swears he was going for it), right as he’s about to move a trembling thumb up to wipe at the spot, prepared to be tender and romantic and lingering as fuck, another hand reaches in and scrapes it away in a second._

_“Had some shit on your face,” Niall says, showing him the fleck before flicking it at him._

_Louis swats it away and laughs, but it’s a bit forced._

_Harry wonders if Louis had any idea what Harry was about to do._

_He wonders if that’s why Louis didn’t move away._

_________

_“Oh shit, is that the Capitol Building?” Louis says, in that unnecessarily hushed tone he always does when it’s dark and they’re alone. Harry kind of hates how beautiful Louis looks in the moonlight, against a backdrop so different from the usual brick and metal of the fire escape. It’s moments like these where he wishes he was more poetic. All his brain can come up with is that he kind of feels like he’s going to vomit and that Louis looks particularly nice surrounded by flowers._

_“Not as pretty as you.”_

_Louis makes a noise and loses his footing briefly on the fence he’s leaning over, and Harry’s too busy dealing with the sudden urge to dive over said fence and down the cliff to the bloody, painful death he deserves to do anything to help._

_Louis eventually manages to steady himself on his own, but he keeps his focus firmly out into the distance. “What?”_

_“What?” Harry parrots, because he’s stupid and panicking and a truly pathetic excuse of a human being._

_“I, uh. I didn’t say anything about it being pretty.”_

_“Yeah,” Harry agrees, mind absolutely reeling for a way to salvage this situation. “But, uh. You--like it?”_

_“...The Capitol Building?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“It’s--yeah.”_

_“So it’s pretty?”_

_Louis’ silent for the longest five seconds of Harry’s life. “Congress is--I’m not a huge fan of Congress, so.”_

_And Harry should be thankful, Louis giving him an out like that. He should take it, run with it, start talking about...politics, or something. Yeah, he should be able to dig up something about that._

_“Architecturally, though,” he says instead._

_“You’re--relating me to architecture?”_

_“Sure.”_

_“You wanna walk me through that?” he says on a tight laugh._

_Harry clears his throat and looks out at the view himself. He hadn’t actually taken a look at the building yet. “It’s--you know--big white pillars that, uh. It’s like a dome, right, but with pillars going round it, and. And a thing on top that sort of--sticks--and--” And Harry’s just saying things that he sees. “Right, I know nothing about architecture. It’s a nice building, is all. You’re quite like a nice building, I guess.”_

_Idiot._

_After a few more unbelievably tense seconds, “I am a hotspot for corruption, aren’t I?”_

_And Harry’s so relieved that Louis’ jumped back onto the topic that he’s right back to being an idiot again. “And you look damn good in a suit.”_

_Louis doesn’t respond, just stays facing the view, frowning at his hands._

_“‘Cause, you know,” Harry tries again. “Congressmen.”_

_“And women,” Louis adds slowly after a bit of a pause. “Congresswomen, I mean. Congress people.”_

_“You beat them all.”_

_Louis lets out a tight huff of air then and runs his hands over his face, then briefly through his fringe. He stays looking away. “I’ll be honest right now, Harry, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”_

_And Harry wants to run. He desperately wants to bail on the whole thing, brush it off with a “Yeah, me neither” or a “You’re right, I’m making a complete ass of myself right now.” Proceed into damage control. Salvage whatever he can from the wreckage that is his attempts at flirting._

_But for some unknown fucking reason, “I think the Capitol Building is really pretty. Architecturally speaking.” He takes a deep breath. “And I think you’re really pretty. Architecturally, uh. Speaking.”_

_There’s a beat of silence, void of either of their breaths, when Harry suddenly realizes what he’s just said. “Wait, no,” he tries to backtrack. “That was stupid. No, what I meant--”_

_“Let’s go find the boys, yeah?” Louis interrupts, and he says it soft and sad and he still won’t fucking look at Harry. “We’ve been gone awhile.”_

_He doesn’t wait for Harry to respond before he’s heading back down the trail._

_**  
**_


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh god, Harry, are you alright?”

Oh. He...felt alright. Well, he didn’t feel _alright_ alright, but he didn’t feel particularly choked up or teary-eyed or anything. He hadn’t looked in a mirror or changed clothes in a while, sure, but he’d assumed he was at least presentable enough that Liam wouldn’t look so instantly upset as soon as he opened the door.

“He’s going through those stages of grief or whatever,” Niall says, pushing past Harry and giving Liam a hard pat on the back before heading (presumably) for the kitchen.

Zayn is close behind him, always quick to criticize. “You don’t even know what those are.”

“Yeah I do,” Niall says, and he starts counting on his fingers as he walks. “First stage, freak the fuck out. Second, sleep. Third, freak the fuck out again. Fourth--”

Harry tunes them out and focuses back on Liam, whose eyebrows keep getting more and more furrowed. There truly is no limit to the worry he can pack into those things. “They’ve been like this all day.”

“Have not,” Niall calls out from around the corner.

“Come inside, I’ll get you some water,” Liam offers softly, stepping to the side to let Harry in. They begin to make their way to the kitchen once Harry has toed off his shoes, and bless him, Liam’s still concerned. “You look really, like, pale. Have you eaten anything today?”

“Just came from the Dirty Diner, actually.”

  
Liam laughs as they enter the main section of the apartment. “Why is it you guys call it that, again?”

“Because,” Niall pipes up from behind the open fridge door. He pauses in his rifling, closing the door about halfway to answer. “It’s had about fifteen renovations in the past ten years and every time it just keeps looking grimier and grimier.”

“Good food, though,” Harry adds.

“Yeah, good burgers, aren’t they, Harry?” Zayn says from atop the counter, where he's eyeing Liam’s varied collection of chips.

And Liam looks at Harry and he’s back to frowning again, and Harry shrugs as he sits down at the bar separating Liam’s kitchen and dining room, because Zayn kind of has a point. “I didn’t eat much of the burger.”

“He had like, half a bite.”

“Ate all my fruit, though.”

Niall scoffs, shutting the fridge loudly and waddling over to the counter, his arms stuffed. “Yeah, great, you’re full of nothing but mango, and--” He dumps everything onto the counter, then makes a gesture in front of him. “Whatever the fuck that slimy green stuff was.”

“Honeydew,” Harry corrects. “Which was ridiculous, by the way, it’s not even in season.”

“Still,” Zayn says, seeming to have decided on French Onion. “That’s all he’s had since yesterday.”

“Apricots, that would’ve been nice,” Harry continues, nodding to himself. “Some pineapple, maybe.”

“Stop talking about fruit, Harry.”

“I bought him a milkshake, too,” Niall tells Liam. “Didn’t even touch it.”

“Hold up,” Harry says, because what is with all this _accusing_. “You bought yourself two milkshakes and offered me one halfway through the meal.”

“Because all you’d eaten was fruit. And who cares, it was a milkshake. Who turns down a milkshake?”

“Milkshake wouldn’t have done him much good,” Liam says in a tone where even if he was lying, Harry's pretty sure everyone still would’ve believed him. “He needs to eat protein.”

Harry groans and feels his stomach twist at the word. “Please don’t talk about me needing to _eat_ anything right now, Liam.”

“Here, how about I make you some tea,” Liam reasons instead, his voice soft and comforting. He stands up to go put a kettle on. “Then see how up to it you feel. Mom’s got some strawberry yogurt in the fridge, I think. Some granola, too.”

And--alright, that didn’t sound so bad. Thank god for people like Liam. “Okay.”

“Seriously?” Niall laughs, shaking his head a little. “You prefer _granola_ over burgers and fries?”

Harry groans again, this time like a little cry. “They’re being mean to me, Liam,” he whines, folding his arms on the counter to act as a cushion for his head. “I’m pale and weak and lacking in whatever and I just want to die.”

  
“Protein.”

“...Yeah.”

Liam sighs again, and Harry kind of thinks he’s a lot like Winnie the Pooh. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Before Harry can work up the energy to lift his head, Niall blurts out, “He and Louis smooched.”

Harry finds himself repeatedly hitting his head against his arms, hopefully illustrating to Liam the level of annoyance he’s had to deal with these last few hours. “We did not _smooch_.”

“They smooched,” Zayn stage-whispers.

“ _Fuck_ you two,” he suddenly declares, lifting his head to really glare at them. He really knows they mean the best. They’re just trying to make him feel normal, because coddling him when he’s like this really is the absolute worst, but right now, “Just, fuck you. Louis, we--” He can’t look at anyone as he says it. “I kissed him, and he ran away.”

“Harry ran away, too,” Zayn’s sure to add.

“Yeah,” he says, scowling. “We both ran.”

Liam nods contemplatively, leaning back against the stove with his arms crossed. “Context?”

“Right,” Harry starts, trying to clear away what he can of his sour mood. It’s a bit of an easier story to tell the third time around, he’s noticing. “We were, uh, on the fire escape yesterday. And it was evening, and I remember we were watching these two drunk guys fighting outside the sports bar across the street for awhile.”

He smiles here, because if it were any other story he’d pause and start talking about the costumes the guys were wearing, and the bizarre things the crowd was shouting to egg them on, and maybe when Louis himself shouted down bad advice during the fight and one of the guys actually took it. But this wasn’t any other story. “But uh, yeah, we were just talking, and he brought up this, like, comic book thing I made for him back when he first moved in. Superheroes, flying sharks, the lot. It was the first birthday present I ever got for him, when he turned eleven. And so he ran upstairs to get it, and when he came back we read through it together, and--” Harry tries really hard not to laugh, this is no time for laughter, but Louis did actual _voices_ for all the characters that had Harry in hysterics at the time, so. “He had basically the whole thing memorized. This stupid thing, that I barely even remember making, and I just--” And yeah, this is where it starts to get hard. “I was just so surprised. And like, touched, that it meant enough to him to save all these years, that I just--I kissed him.”

Nobody says anything for a few moments, so Harry decides to keep going. “And he didn’t react so well.”

“What’d you do after you ran?” Liam prompts, all patience.

“Uh, panicked for awhile,” Harry answers truthfully, thankful the lump in his throat hasn’t grown too large for him to speak. “Didn’t sleep. Kept calling Niall. He picked up late morning, came straight over.”

Niall crumples up the wrapper he’s holding, and with his tone a little more in line with Liam’s, “And I called Zayn because I didn’t really know what to do. Figured Zayn’s actually smart, he’ll know how to explain it. And I think it helped a little, but.” He shrugs. “He’s still like this. So we came here.”

Liam nods some more. “Where’s Louis been?”

“Some soccer tournament out on Randall’s Island,” Harry says on a sigh.

“Ah.” Liam keeps nodding. “And what’s the problem, exactly?”

And Harry gives him a look of utter fucking astonishment, because _Liam_ , of all people. “I kissed Louis.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t continue.

“...Okay, I cannot _believe_ you three!” Harry explodes all at once. “What the _hell_ is so difficult to understand about all of this? The problem is that I _fucking kissed him_ , and he _rejected me_ , and you three are acting like it’s nothing!” He knows he sounds condescending, he knows there’s a better way to get this across, but _fuck_. “You’re acting like I haven’t just lost my best fucking friend!”

Liam somehow keeps his tone steady, even though he’s clearly getting bothered, and Harry really fucking wishes he would just explode along with him. Wishes all of them would. “You need to cut yourself some slack, Harry.”

“I don’t deserve _slack_ , Liam,” Harry spits. “What I did was stupid, and reckless, and entirely damaging to the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I don’t--”

But then Liam does raise his voice. “Seriously, Harry, would you _please_ stop talking like you’re the only one involved here!”

The statement knocks Harry back down onto his stool, and he must look shocked, because Liam almost _never_ raises his voice. So much so that Harry’s kind of forgotten how wholly unsettling it is. “What?”

Liam fortunately realizes this and offers a small apology in the form of a sigh, before continuing. “Shit’s complicated on your end. You’re upset with yourself. We get it.” He still sounds angry, though. But more cautious. “But maybe for a _second_ consider that the same might be true on the other end, as well.”

Harry really fucking wishes he had a response to that.

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to try to explain Louis, if that’s what you’re looking for. But you have to take a step back and _imagine_ the concept that just because you’ve been certain about your feelings for Louis since you were thirteen or whatever, doesn’t mean you can assume the same is true for him.”

Harry tries to argue. “I’m not saying I think he has feelings for me, I’m saying--”

“You’re saying you think he doesn’t,” Liam interrupts sternly. “Which is equally unfair. For fuck’s sake, give him some room be unsure. You think _Louis_ is going to be cool about the whole gay thing straight off the bat?”

Well. Not even Harry was, so. Of course not.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but his silence is answer enough.

“Just consider for a second that you and me? We’re dorks. We’re not in with the cool kids.” He gives a hard laugh. “And as much as I hate to reduce us to high school stereotypes, you and me are the nerds, Zayn’s the artsy mysterious bad boy, Niall’s the--um, opposite of Zayn. And Louis, if anything, is the jock.”

Zayn looks smug as fuck and Niall looks offended, and Harry probably looks terrified because _fuck_ , Liam is sort of right.

“Jock means cool. Cool means a different crowd. So just--consider who he’s around when it’s not us. Consider--I don’t know. My point is, there’s a whole lot to consider, way more than you’re aware of. Or will ever be aware of. So cut yourself some slack, because you’re _never_ going to have enough information to properly blame yourself the way you’re doing.”

Harry can feel the silence buzzing around his head.

Winnie the Pooh is a fucking hardass, apparently.

“At least not without talking to him.”

“That’s your advice?” Harry is eventually able to get out.

The kettle starts whistling then, right on cue. “That’s the situation, Harry,” he says as he flicks the burner off. “Do what you want with it.”

 *****       *       *

_“Am I dead yet?”_

_“Uhmm,” Harry draws out, eyes searching the board. “No, you’ve got two armies left. Wait, three.”_

_Zayn looks thoroughly exhausted. “Where?”_

_“Two in Kamchatka, one in Irkutsk.”_

_“One in where?” Zayn starts, but he quickly shakes his head and just reaches across the board with a heavy hand to snatch up the defending dice. “No, never mind. Let’s get this over with.”_

_Harry defeats Zayn’s armies in a clean four moves, and Zayn sighs enormously with relief. “Oh thank god,” he says as he pushes himself to his feet. He hops around a bit once he’s up, easing the blood flow back to his lower limbs after hours of disuse._

_“Good game,” Liam comments, already beginning to crowd all of his next turn’s bonus armies into Eastern Europe. “You held East Asia pretty well.”_

_“Yeah yeah,” Zayn mutters as he begins to walk away. “Best of luck, you two.”_

_“Thanks,” Harry and Liam both deadpan._

_“So you’ve got Asia now?” Liam asks once Zayn’s gone, crossing his legs and peering over the board._

_Harry leans up on his elbows. “Yeah. A cool seven armies, that gets me.”_

_“Like hell I’m going to let you get seven armies,” Liam scoffs. “I’m attacking Ural with Ukraine.”_

_It’s a brutal, bloody battle all the way to the finish. It’s Harry’s personal opinion that Liam’s dependency on cliché, well-known strategies is what gets him in the end, trying to stock up in Australia and Europe to sandwich people in the very last turns of the game. But Harry thwarts that plan like he usually does with a few well-placed armies in South Asia, and even though it’s another hour of dice rolling and army-distributing and arguing over rules before his victory is sealed, it really just makes it all the more sweet._

_“Whoa,” Harry says when he sees the clock on Liam’s bedside table. “It’s almost midnight.”_

_Liam throws the last of the baggies into the box, and Harry goes to fold up the board. “Oh god, really? Probably shouldn’t have left those three alone in my house for this long, huh.”_

_Harry laughs at that. “It’s your own fault you demolished Louis so quickly.”_

_“He was stubborn with Europe,” Liam says on a shrug, beginning to stand up. He has to grab hold of the dresser to steady himself. “_ I’m _always stubborn with Europe.”_

_“He’s also never played Risk before.”_

_“Neither has Niall,” Liam’s quick to defend, “and he managed to destroy half my armies before we finally got him out.”_

_“Still a bit harsh.”_

_“Whatever,” Liam laughs, kicking the box under his bed. “Let’s go inspect the damage.”_

_It feels to Harry like a full five minutes of walking before they finally emerge in the main area, a testament to the hugeness of Liam’s truly rich Manhattanite apartment. They start out discussing game theory and some other cool board games Liam’s been thinking about getting, but somewhere along the way they fall silent as they notice a steady rise of shouting and slightly maniacal giggling coming from the kitchen. Liam quickens his pace, and Harry falls back a little bit._

_Just as they reach the main area of the apartment, there’s an enormous, clattering crash that rings painfully in his ears and makes both Harry and Liam stutter in their steps. Liam recovers quicker, sprinting forward, and he stops so abruptly at the opening to the kitchen that his upper body lurches forward, and he gets the most hilarious look of horror on his face, and Harry could burst out laughing._

_Two other voices already have._

_Overwhelmed with curiosity, Harry jogs the rest of the way to the kitchen, and when he looks in, it’s absolute chaos. Pans and bowls and strainers litter every available square foot of the kitchen tile, still rolling and rocking back and forth from the fall. A huge contraption Harry assumes used to hold all of the equipment is dangling precariously from the ceiling from three posts instead of four, a kettle is whistling in the corner, both sinks are running (for some reason), beer bottles are everywhere, Niall and Zayn are cracking up in the hallway peering into the open kitchen, and there, on the island counter, standing incriminatingly in the center of it all, is Louis._

_He’s got that look on his face, as well, where he knows he’s just gone too far, he knows he’s fucked up, but he so unashamedly loves it. It’s half concern at being caught, half absolute joy at having been the source of true chaos, and his cheeks are flushed a bright pink and his hair is hardly the careful fringe he works so hard to maintain, and he’s staring at Liam with a slight smile, wide-eyed, absolutely still, awaiting his reaction._

_Liam has a hellish fire burning in his eyes, and he’s staring at Louis like he’s going to steal his soul, while Louis just smiles that little bit more. Niall and Zayn’s wheezing eventually dies down, and they’re all just hanging there in the silence, waiting._

_Liam’s voice is terrifyingly low. “What the fuck?”_

_And Harry_ really _can’t help how he bursts out laughing at that. Niall and Zayn join right along with him, and Louis stays on the counter, giggling sheepishly._

_Eventually Louis risks a comment. “How’d the game go?”_

_“Get off the fucking counter, you fucking piece of shit,” Liam instructs immediately after, pointing at Louis with a firm finger, and Louis finally starts laughing in earnest. Liam keeps yelling at him and Louis’ laughter keeps getting more and more intense, to the point where he just has to collapse onto the counter because he’s laughing too hard to stay standing._

_After some time Liam is able to coax him down (well, there are some more harsh words and some significant arm pulling), and as soon as he’s back on the ground, Louis makes an honest-to-god attempt at steadying himself, wiping the tears from his eyes._

_He takes a couple steps forward towards Liam, sending a spoon or two flying in different directions. He throws an arm around his shoulders and places a hand on his chest. “Liam.” And then he’s laughing again._

_Liam harshly shrugs his arm away and Louis has to physically stop himself again. “No no no, I’m sorry, Liam, I love you. Um.” His speech is slurred, and Harry realizes with a start that this is the first time he’s ever seen Louis properly drunk. So far, he kind of loves it. “I can explain, please let me explain Liam, darling, my lovely lovely Liam whom I love and respect.”_

_Liam rolls his eyes and sternly crosses his arms. “Get on with it.”_

_“Yes!” Louis says cheerily with a bit of an excited jump. “Of course! See, what happened here,” he gestures vaguely around the room and ends up interrupting himself with a little noise of realization, like he’s only just noticed how bad it is. “Oh. Wow. Yeah, this isn’t too good.” He looks back up at Liam, and a huge smile spreads across his face. “We were gonna make cupcakes!”_

_“You what?” Liam spits as Harry is sent into another round of laughter._

_Louis shrugs it off. “Cupcakes! To celebrate the, uh, game, or whatever, myself--” He starts pointing out his other conspirators, “--and Niall Horan and Zayn Malik, over there, were going to make cupcakes. The pan things were up there, so I went up to get them, and--” He glances around the floor again. “Not sure where exactly they’ve gone, but. Anyway! Cupcakes! Wanna bake some cupcakes, Liam?”_

_“Are you high?” Liam asks incredulously, and Harry can’t tell if he’s actually an idiot or being ironic._

_“Drunk!” Louis says anyway, throwing his arms up in the air. “Niall brought beer!”_  

  
_“Your folks keep great whiskey,” Zayn throws in, and Liam whips his head around in fear._

_“You didn’t.”_

_“We did,” Niall admits. “Just a little.”_

_Liam’s feet start carrying him out the kitchen, around to Niall and Zayn._

_“You didn’t raid my parents’ liquor cabinet.”_

_“They’re away for the weekend, aren’t they?” Zayn says, and Liam groans, jogging past them to where the elegant wooden cabinet is standing with its doors swung open._

_“Did you know there’s a whiskey in there that tastes like cinnamon?” Niall tells the room, his accent stronger and his cheeks a deep pink, before turning back to Liam, who groans again as he inspects its contents. “It’s like candy but it hurts to drink.”_

_It’s then, when Harry barks out a laugh, that Louis seems to realize he’s even in the room. He turns to him in surprise, and in a split second he’s beaming. “Hazza!” he yells, staying exactly where he is, a sea of kitchenware separating them_

_“Hey, Louis,” Harry says. He’s honestly missed Louis these last few hours._

_“How’d the game go?”_

_“I won.”_

_And at that news, Louis, Niall, and Zayn collectively lose their shits. Together their cheering is beyond obnoxious, Niall is whooping and pounding his fist on the counter, Zayn is wrapping an arm around Niall and pumping his other fist in the air, and Louis is darting and stumbling around to get to Harry._

_When he finally gets close enough he jumps the last few feet into Harry’s arms, wrapping him tight and nuzzling right against his neck. He knocks Harry back a bit, who only narrowly saves both of them from toppling over, but once he finds his balance again, he hugs Louis right back. After another few seconds, Louis pulls away and looks at Harry with that crinkly eyed grin that melts Harry’s insides in an instant._

_He then unwraps his arms from around Harry’s neck, places them on his head, and roughly pulls so that he can place a loud, smacking kiss to his temple. He pulls away after a moment and Harry’s left feeling kind of dazed._

_“Congrats, Haz,” he says, giving him a fond ruffle of his fringe. “Celebratory beer?”_

_Harry nods, and it’s all he really_ can _do, because Louis just kind of kissed him and he’s only ever been drunk, like, three times in his life, and Louis’ being so affectionate and it’s all very startling but in the best, best way. He folds an arm around Harry’s waist and starts pulling him out of the kitchen and towards Niall and Zayn._

_They get around the corner, Louis refusing to relinquish his hold on Harry even as the other two each come up for their respective hugs, and Niall opens him up a bottle of beer._

_“You’re breaking the law, you know,” Liam calls bitterly from across the room, where he’s still bent over, rifling through the collection of liquor. “All of you. By about five years.”_

_“No shit,” Zayn calls with a smile, taking a swig from his own beer. “Come on, Liam, live a little.”_

_“Fuck off,” he mutters, slamming the doors shut. “No more of my parents’ liquor.”_

_“Aw, no more candy whiskey?” Niall whines, pouting, and somehow drunkenness just makes him even more endearing._

_Liam’s unfazed however, plopping himself down on a stool by the counter, gazing over at the four of them with resentment. “Just drink your goddamn beer.”_

_“Hmm,” Louis mutters, and Harry turns to face him. Louis looks up, again realizes Harry’s there, and pats his cheek lightly with a smile. “Haz, you’re smart, what’s, uh, twenty-one minus seventeen?”_

_“Four,” Harry answers on a laugh._

_“Four years, then!” Louis says to Liam. “We’re only breaking the law by_ four _years.”_

_“Six for Niall and Harry,” Liam deadpans. “Five for Zayn.”_

_“And five for_ you _too, Li!” Zayn says, grinning like a cartoon and shuffling over to Liam with a freshly opened bottle in hand. “Come oooonnnn…”_

_Liam scoffs initially, but Zayn starts waving the bottle in front of his face, forcing him to tilt his head back to avoid it. He keeps at it until eventually Liam cracks a smile, and Zayn cheers as Liam swats his hand away. “No,” he says, and it’s firm, but he’s smiling. “Someone’s gotta stay sober to watch over you four.”_

_Zayn shrugs but looks happy to have lifted Liam at least a little bit out of his sour mood, and comes back to join the other three._

_“What color were you?” Louis asks Harry suddenly, the lip of his beer pressing into Harry’s chest._

_“What?”_

_“In Risk, what color were you?”_

_“Oh, uh. Green.”_

_“TO GREEN!” Louis suddenly shouts, raising his bottle in the air mightily, and Niall and Zayn eagerly jump in. Harry laughs, and even Liam chuckles a little, and they’re all cheering and clinking bottles, and as he takes his first swig of the night he feels like he’ll maybe never stop smiling._

_________

_Harry couldn’t map out all the events leading up to this moment, couldn’t really even give a good estimate of how much time had passed. He knows he’s had somewhere around two beers and a few different somethings of very strong hard liquor that Niall managed to take without Liam noticing. His shoulders are loose and his limbs are heavy, and he’s inexplicably warm and everything around him feels fuzzy, like a dream, and he’s lying here on the couch and Louis is somehow three inches away from his face, also like a dream. They’re just looking at each other, too, and Harry knows he’s calm but doesn’t understand how, knows his fingers should be shaking but they’re just lying there in front of him, mercifully still._

_“You’ve got very nice curls,” Louis half-whispers, half-slurs as his eyes sweep up. His voice is slightly hoarse. “Didja know that?”_

_“Yeah,” Harry says. His words feel like syrup. “You’ve only been touching them all night.”_

_“Well, they’re very nice.”_

_“Thank you.”_

_Louis reaches a hand up to twirl a strand around in his fingers. Harry sighs into it and goes to move his legs closer to Louis’, only to realize that their legs are already tangled together._

_Louis’ gaze finds Harry’s again. “Eyes,” he says, maybe without thinking._

_Harry chuckles lowly. “Yeah?”_

_“They’re green,” Louis clarifies. “Very green. Very nice.”_

_“Thanks.”_

_“You’ve got really nice eyes,” he repeats, not taking in Harry’s answer. “Very, very green. Very nice eyes.”_

_“I’ve got nice what?”_

_It’s a lame joke, but Louis smiles nonetheless. “Eyes. It’s a good setup, you’ve got.”_

_Harry frowns while huffing out a light laugh, very confused. “What?”_

_“You’ve got a good setup,” Louis says again. “Like, your face.”_

_Harry laughs a bit harder this time. “You’re so drunk,” he says fondly._

_“I dunno, shut up,” Louis says, hitting Harry’s chest with his hand and just sort of. Leaving it there. “It’s cute.”_

_“Sorry, what’s cute?” Harry asks, because opportunities to take the piss out of Louis are few and far between. “My ‘face setup,’ is that what’s cute?”_

_“Shut up,” Louis laughs, shaking his head slightly. “_ You’re _cute.”_

_Harry swallows, preparing for the wave of nerves that never comes. “I’m cute?”_

_“You’re cute,” Louis repeats. “So very, very cute. I’ve thought so for like a million years.”_

_And Harry actually is a bit surprised at that. “Yeah?”_

_“Shit, shouldn’t have said that,” Louis laughs, but he doesn’t look that regretful. “‘M pretty drunk, aren’t I?”_

_“Yeah,” Harry agrees, and he doesn’t know why this time around that makes him a bit sad. Louis looks so beautiful right now, so so close, slightly illuminated by the moon peeking through the skylight twenty feet above their heads. “You’re pretty drunk.”_


	6. Chapter 6

Harry sits in between Niall and Zayn on the train ride home. He’s pulled his knees into his chest and he’s staring down at the ground, and he realizes with some guilt that he must look really sad right now, all tired and pulled in like this. But he’s actually feeling okay. Niall and Zayn are having a conversation over him and he thinks they’re maybe talking about Godzilla, and even though it’s a topic Harry knows a shit ton about, he’s kind of enjoying slipping in and out of listening, only catching little snippets.

(“Wait, Godzilla’s the good guy?”)

(“What the hell, Niall, how did you not know that.”)

Harry likes how they’ve each got an arm thrown around his shoulders.

He likes seeing all the other people around their age, maybe early twenties, milling about around them. A lot of them are very dressed up, in sparkly halter tops and short skirts, tight jeans and pretentious tee shirts. They’re all laughing and talking loudly, and Harry thinks a lot of them are probably drunk, and he decides he likes the eleven o’clock crowd. They’re enjoying themselves and they don’t pay attention to him or his friends at all. He likes the kind of anonymity unique to subway cars, free to watch but not be watched. He notices a very cute guy across the car with a loud laugh and pretty dark blue nail polish. He makes a mental note to try that sometime.

The train thins out significantly as they cross back over into Brooklyn, and the delays are shorter and the train moves faster when Harry just really wishes it would slow down. Zayn gets out a couple stops before the other two, giving Harry’s shoulder an encouraging squeeze as he leaves, and as the doors close Niall shifts a bit closer.

The train jolts forward, and Harry lets it smooth out again before he speaks. “You know what I’m most worried about?”

“Hmm?”

Harry’s throat all of a sudden feels tight again. “That he’ll pretend like it didn’t happen.”

Niall hums again. “He’s done that a lot, hasn’t he.”

“Yeah.”

They’re silent for the rest of the trip.

Niall walks Harry to his stoop, hanging around on the sidewalk as Harry climbs up the steps and searches for his keys. “You gonna be okay?”

He turns around and faces Niall, whose hands are shoved in his pockets, and he looks so adorably apprehensive. Harry nods. “Thanks.”

“I love you, man,” Niall says, grinning wide. “Good luck.”

Harry gives him a tight smile, and watches as Niall backs away to jaywalk across the street.

When he steps into his darkened bedroom he’s not surprised to see the silhouette outside his window, faintly lit by streetlamps and facing to watch the street below. His heart still climbs and settles itself in his throat and he still starts to feel like he might throw up that granola and yogurt from before, and he’s starting to regret running up his stairs so quickly because now he _really_ can’t catch his breath. But he’s not surprised.

He closes his door as quietly as he can and tries to take a few sobering breaths before approaching the window.

He makes the decision all at once, to throw the window open and step out onto the fire escape, as if just the idea of this confrontation didn’t leave him slightly shaking.

And then he’s here, city night all around him, a day’s worth of panic attacks behind him, Louis right next to him. And it’s the most familiar thing in the world.

But _fuck_ , is it weird.

After a couple seconds, Louis clears his throat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Harry replies with some semblance of calm.

“Um.” He hears Louis twist around, and then a rustling sound. “Someone was, uh, selling cupcakes at the tournament. Some little girl. And I got one for you, but it got a little smushed in my bag, so.”

And that is...kind of the furthest thing from what Harry was expecting. “You what?”

“Cupcake. See?”

Harry looks over at the wrinkled paper bag Louis is reaching inside, careful to avoid eye contact. After some difficulty, he manages to pull out the saddest mess of pink icing and crumbled vanilla cupcake Harry has ever seen, and he really can’t help the laugh that escapes him.

“I know, I know,” Louis laughs. “Got thrown in the trunk by accident.” He sheepishly hands it over to Harry, who’s careful not to brush their fingers as he takes it. “The one I had was good, though. The one that wasn’t, uh, totally flattened.”

“I’m glad,” Harry says, because he doesn’t really know what else to say. He places the cupcake down between them.

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, nodding. After a couple more tense seconds, “Tournament was shit.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Almost came dead last. Got personally screamed at by Walsh for missing like, five open goals.”

“I thought your coach didn’t scream. Was just super brooding, or whatever.”

“No,” Louis laughs after a beat. “No, that’s Cowell. He’s terrifying on a whole different level. Can make you completely hate yourself with no more than two words and a disappointed look.”

“Got it.” And they’re back to silence.

Harry thinks this whole situation is maybe completely ridiculous. Feeling scared to make eye contact, feeling scared of something so stupid as brushing fingers. And on the fucking _fire escape_ , of all places. Just a glance around reveals so concise a summary of Harry’s life: the commemorative wad of gum he remembers Niall sticking under the railing just before he left to get his braces on; the ugly teal stripe Harry had spraypainted on the corner post because he hadn’t understood that Zayn meant it was _permanent_ permanent; the set of peeling Spider-man stickers Liam brought over that one time that’s somehow survived years of snowstorms and heat waves and Harry’s nervous fingers; and the stubborn-as-fuck lump of rust that’s been digging into his ass for sixteen years, and his _best friend_  beside him, and why the _fuck_ is he feeling so god damn afraid?

It’s fucking bullshit, is what it is.

All of a sudden, Harry feels the words rising up in him almost of their own accord, and before he even really makes the conscious decision to say them, they’re already out of his mouth. “Louis, I have a massive crush on you.”

The nervousness washes over him like a wave, and Harry thinks he’s really starting to get tired of drowning. He clamps his hands together, willing them to slow down. “That’s not meant to be, like. I’m not asking for anything in return. I’m just. Sick of not acknowledging it.”

And. Okay. That’s a thing that Harry just did.

Louis’ voice is soft, steady. “Yeah.”

Yeah? What the fuck does _yeah_ mean?

“I mean. Yeah, me too.”

...What the fuck does _that_ mean?

Louis takes in a sudden gulp of air, and then he’s off and stammering like crazy. “I should probably--right, I don’t regret--or like, I don’t resent you for the, uh. The kiss. Like, I hope you haven’t been worrying about that.”

And Harry would laugh, because the idea of him not worrying about something like that is utterly ridiculous and Louis knows it, but he’s still kind of. Confused.

“Oh fuck,” Louis says after a moment. “That’s cryptic as shit, isn’t it? I didn’t mean for it to be cryptic. I hate people who are cryptic. I don’t--right. Okay.” Despite his own nerves, Harry lets himself smile a little, because while his nervousness always shuts him down and makes his throat close up, Louis’ always turns him into a rambling, stuttering mess of a person who can’t figure out how to stop talking. It’s a bit of a relief to see.

Louis sighs harshly, annoyed at himself. “I have, like. Feelings. For you. Of the, uh. Romantic variety.”

And at that, Harry’s brain just sort of clicks off.

Louis, however, is still reeling. “And I’ve always been like this, y’know? I didn’t really know it for awhile, I guess. I mean, I _knew_ it, like I knew I liked being close to you, and I knew I was always thinking about how pretty you were--”

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck_

“--But I couldn’t really connect that to like, feelings. To being gay. I dunno. You’re so fucking terrifying, Harry.”

  
“ _I’m_ terrifying?” Harry blurts out because _what_?

“Yeah, you’re terrifying!” Louis laughs, sounding beyond relieved that Harry has said something. “I don’t have a super eloquent reason as to why. You’re just. Well, you’re a _boy_ , for one.”

That makes Harry a little sad, and Louis must notice.

“I mean, it’s just. That’s a weird and uncomfortable thing to accept about yourself. About myself. For me. And--wait.” He presses his hand to his forehead, pausing to think. “I just want to make sure you know that all of this isn’t like, a revelation I’ve had in the last twenty-four hours. I’ve been, uh. Talking to Niall, for awhile. He’s the only one who knows.”

 _The fucker_.

“I’ve sworn him to secrecy,” he’s quick to add. “Or. Threatened him a bunch to keep him from telling. But fuck, Harry--I wish more than anything that I could’ve just kissed you back. I wish I didn’t have to say all of this, could’ve just gone with it and let the kiss do all the talking. Instead of me just sitting here mucking it up and making everything awkward as shit.”

Harry has to look over at him then, and he almost does it with the intention of saying something, but Louis is all sweat and grass stains and soccer uniform and he’s talking about his _feelings_ , Louis’ talking about his god damn feelings, and Harry can’t find it in him to interrupt.

“But I was scared, and I didn’t expect something like that to catch me so off guard. Also I’m a fucking idiot, so I ran.”

Louis glances over, and Harry realizes he’s frowning. “Not to say you’re an idiot! It’s just--I mean--okay, maybe we’re both idiots, how about that.”

Harry can’t really gain enough control of his muscles to nod furiously in agreement.

“The point is,” and Louis’ back to sounding somewhat calm now. “If it weren’t for you, I probably would’ve just kept on pretending.”

The silence is a little bit different this time around. It’s still tense, it still has something resembling anticipation filling it, but now there’s this electricity and Harry’s just decided the distance between them is way too far and he wants to say something about it but he can’t speak, he honestly feels like he might start crying if he does.

“Harry, please say something.”

“I can’t--” Harry is quick to respond, surprising himself. “Form sentences? Right now? Just--yes.”

Louis laughs. “Yes? Yes what?”

Harry gapes for a few seconds, mouth opening and closing like a fish, but nothing comes out, so he just groans. “I don’t know,” he’s able to whine, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him. “I can’t--do. Anything.”

“Can you kiss me?”

Harry whips his neck around to look at Louis so fast he swears he hears something snap. “Kiss you?”

But Louis just smiles, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, and _wow_. “Kiss me.”

Harry’s kind of frozen to the spot. “You’ll kiss me back?”

And because he’s utter shit, Louis shrugs. “Sure.”

There’s nothing smooth, or...not totally embarrassing about the way Harry just lunges forward, planting the knee of his jeans directly in the smushed cupcake, and kisses Louis. He’s completely unsteady, slipping on icing, plus he completely underestimated how much space was between them which made his weight placement wonky, and he has to pull away only a second later because he’s actually about to tip over. But Louis places a pair of steadying hands on his waist, guiding him so he’s kneeling comfortably next to him. Then it’s Louis who tilts up, and finally, it’s perfect.

 *****       *       *

_It’s as if the boy had somehow felt Harry looking at him, because his gaze doesn’t wander in the slightest. It goes from ground to straight up to Harry and Harry’s heart subsequently jumps out of his chest at the blue of those eyes, how can those eyes be so blue from so far away, oh god, think Harry, think._

_His limbs won’t move for a moment, so he’s just left there staring at the boy who’s now frowning curiously up at him, but then his brain turns back on again and he gasps and scrambles up into a sitting position, staring straight ahead through the fire escape’s metal bars._

_Had he seen him? Of course he saw him, he was looking right at him._

_Maybe he didn’t? Maybe he was just watching that old lady feeding some pigeons out her window across the street._

_No, that’s so stupid. God, Harry, you idiot._

_He was reading. Right, yes, he was reading. Harry whips his head around and snatches up the nearest comic book from his stack on the windowsill, opening up to a random page and staring intently at it. He’s sure he’s read it before but registers nothing, too busy focusing on keeping his breathing normal to take in any actual words._

_Because no_ wonder _the boy could feel Harry looking at him, the boy’s eyes are burning like fire on Harry’s skin._

_He’s not entirely sure how long he stays like this, hunched over the same page with his hair flopping over his forehead. The fire coursing through his veins calms down a bit, and so does his heart rate, but he doesn’t dare lift his head to check if the boy is still there. He heard the moving truck drive away, heard the little girl that was down there get carried inside, but that’s it._

_Not that he has like, a_ plan _or anything. He can’t go back inside, what if the boy is still out there, what if he sees him running away? Should he wait until the sun goes down? Until his mom calls him in for dinner? Maybe he can spend the night out here, it’s usually warm enough in the summer._

_“Were you watching me?”_

_Harry is honestly surprised he doesn’t scream at the unexpected voice from above him, but he does catapult his comic book through the fire escape’s railing out of terror, and yeah, that sounds more like him. He watches in distracted horror as it bolts down to the ground, hitting the sidewalk hard on its corner. There’s a snort above him._

_“I--uh--” Harry glances up. His heart is beating phenomenally fast (he wonders if it’ll_ ever _go back to normal) and his voice is raspy with disuse and his fingers are shaking like they do when he’s nervous and there, just a few feet above his head, are those same eyes, those same bluest eyes Harry has ever seen in his whole entire life, and why is he noticing_ eyes _all of a sudden, Harry’s never noticed peoples’ eyes before. “No.”_

_The boy is lying down and peering at Harry through the bars of the fire escape landing one story up, exactly as Harry was before. “You were watching me, though,” he says with calm certainty. His voice is high and his features are sharp, very different to Harry’s own flabby cheeks._

_“I wasn’t,” Harry insists._

_“Why were you watching me?”_

_“I wasn’t watching you, I was reading.”_

_“Oh.” The boy lifts his head to swipe at his sweaty fringe. “Sure looked like you were watching me.”_

_Harry drops his eyes to his hands and shrugs, trying desperately to smother his nerves. He’s not sure he really understands this boy. He doesn’t sound upset with Harry, really. If anything, he sounds mildly amused, which is maybe just as bad. But he’s not_ smiling _either, so Harry doesn’t take any chances and stays quiet._

 _“You dropped your book, y’know.” And he can just_ tell _the boy is smirking when he says it._

_So Harry squeezes his eyes shut. “Yeah,” he says carefully, feeling the heat flood his cheeks._

_“Why’d you drop your book?”_

_“You--um.” Harry turns his head up but doesn’t quite meet the boy’s eyeline. “You scared me?”_

_“Oh,” the boy says again. He makes no move to apologize. Then again, it doesn’t look like he’s going to laugh at Harry, either. And Harry never really considered that there was a third option. “Were you reading a picture book?”_   
_“No,” Harry scoffs. “It’s a comic book. I don’t read picture books.”_

_“It looked like a picture book, though.”_

_“Yeah, well, it’s not!” he says firmly, louder and more defensive than he intended. “Just ‘cause it’s got pictures doesn’t mean it’s a picture book.”_

_The boy waits a moment before speaking again. “What’s it about?” His tone is steady, entirely unchanged despite Harry’s shift._

_“It’s Spider-man.”_

_“What’s Spider-man?”_

_“You don’t know Spider-man?” Harry says, looking back up with wide eyes. The boy just shrugs._

_Who’s Spider-man? Who’s_ Spider-man _? Only Harry’s_ idol _. Only everything he’s ever wanted to be, only everything he thinks about._

_“He’s--he’s a superhero.”_

_The boy hums._

_That’s not--God, that’s so far from enough. This isn’t just friendship on the line now, this is Spider-man’s reputation. And Harry feels a personal responsibility to defend it._

_“It’s really good,” he continues, nodding emphatically. “Comic books are really cool.”_

_“Yeah?”_

_“Yeah! It’s got superheroes and cool weapons and evil villains and, and, it’s got like_ lots _of blood,” Harry tacks on, thinking it might add a bit of legitimacy._

_He’s not disappointed. “Blood?” the boy says, intrigued._

_“Yeah! They get into_ tons _of fights. The superheroes, I mean. People are always out to get them. Like Venom, he’s always out to get Spider-man.”_

_“Who’s Venom?” the boy asks, grinning a bit and following along eagerly._

_“He’s my favorite villain!” Harry giggles excitedly, and finally he realizes which comic book he had picked up before. “I was just reading--”_

_And as Harry locates the crumpled remains of his comic book on the street below, a familiar hot wave of embarrassment rushes through him with incredible speed and settles itself behind his ears and eyes. Right, he did that. The boy had laughed at him for_ that _. Laughed at him for his stupid, flailing limbs, and now Harry’s trying to talk to him about_ superheroes _?_

_“Um--he’s--I was--” Harry tries and fails to get back on his roll, his voice mimicking his now violently shaking fingers. “Ven--is--What I was--you don’t--” And Harry’s knees snap up to his chest almost of their own accord and he buries his face in his hands, everything rushing in too quickly. He’s blown it, he’s gone and blown yet another chance at making a friend, sentenced himself to another summer of loneliness, why did he think he’d suddenly be able to do this, oh god. “Sorry,” he mumbles into his palms, trying to curl himself impossibly smaller._

__

_Harry never found out how long the boy had stayed. Just that when he looked back up an hour later, eyes puffy and sun setting, he was gone._

_That part only really meant anything for the rest of that night. From then on out, Harry only remembers Ultimate Spider-man, Volume Six, crumpled and wrinkled and torn and that his mom had found outside their door the next morning. The binding had come almost completely undone and it was just barely readable again, but its decreased quality didn’t matter. Harry couldn’t think of anything that mattered less. What mattered was the scotch tape, painstakingly placed all around its rips and edges, only just managing to hold it all together._

_This is what friendship looked like. Harry definitely didn’t let himself call it that back then,_ god _no, but that’s what it was. Right there in his hands. And it sparked maybe the first inkling Harry had ever had that maybe he doesn’t fuck everything up quite as bad as he always thinks he does._

 

*       *       *

 

“Go to prom with me?”

Harry didn’t think he ever could, but he somehow manages to stop biting at Louis’ neck. He laughs lowly, keeping his lips pressed against his skin. “What?”

“Prom,” Louis says again, and his voice is high and breathy and he straight up _sighs_  when Harry reattaches his lips. “Go to prom with me, Haz, please go to prom with me.”

Harry responds by traveling down and nipping at Louis’ collarbone, and the boy gasps and Harry’s head is positively swimming at the way he grips his waist even tighter, pulls him closer, and Harry fucking _loves_ it, loves Louis touching him like this.

“I’m serious,” Louis says eventually, running an impatient hand through Harry’s curls and pulling him up, and _oh_ , Harry likes that far more than Louis probably intended. “‘S’in three weeks, we should go.”

Harry can’t really fathom how any of this is happening right now. How he’s sitting here, straddling Louis’ legs, previously with his hands and mouth roaming all over, making Louis make all these beautiful sounds, and their breath is hot and their chests are heaving, and Harry has to search Louis’ eyes because _prom_? “Why prom?”

Louis just laughs, shamelessly raking his eyes down Harry’s front. Harry preens under his gaze. “Because why the hell not?”

Harry smiles wide and dives back in for another kiss, long and languid this time and fucking _perfect_. He breaks away before Louis can pull him any closer, still slightly out of breath. “Kind of a big deal, isn’t it? Gay kids going to prom?”

“Who cares?” Louis says easily, shrugging, and it makes Harry so overwhelmingly happy that he could kiss him. Well. “Fuck it. Fuck them.”

Harry laughs one more time, throwing his head back and moving his hands up to Louis’ shoulders. His cheeks are hurting from smiling so much, and he somehow finds it in him to shrug himself. “Yeah. Fuck them.”


End file.
